


Good Romance

by walking_contradiction42



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Emo: The musical, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Projecting onto Crowley (Good Omens), Author is not a native speaker, Canon Rewrite, Christian Aziraphale, Coming Out, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a kanelbullar, Emo Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Homophobia, How Do I Tag, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Okay bare with me here, Punk Anathema, Shameless use of dr who references, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, in this case the church tho, shameless use of mcr quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 103,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_contradiction42/pseuds/walking_contradiction42
Summary: Aziraphale has had a very sheltered childhood, his parents being very strict and religious people.Then he meets Crowley, a hopelessly emo troublemaker, and his world is suddenly turned upside down.All his life he thought the people on the other side to be cruel and vicious monsters. But really, Crowley is so much more.And as they are forced to work together for a greater cause, Aziraphale realises that not everything has to be good and evil, black and white, but that there might also be an “Our Side” in between.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Before we start I want to say a few quick words about this story.
> 
> Firstly, this is an actual canon rewrite. Meaning, most of the time this will be very close to the original dialogue and narration of the TV series and will involve most of the original scenes. However, this is a different story. So some of the words will be changed to fit the plot and there are also some additional scenes. Everything else is written by me. Maybe you’d like to watch the episode again after this to appreciate the original, much better writing and compare it with my words.
> 
> Secondly, I do not mean to make jokes about any people, only about the depiction of stereotypes. My story is loosely based on the film “Emo: The musical” (if anyone has actually heard about that mess some people like to call television) and its humour. If anyone feels offended by my jokes or descriptions, I am really sorry. I, myself, like to identify as “emo” and do not mean any harm to neither Christians nor Emos. 
> 
> Now that we have done that over with: Enjoy the story!

Current theories on the creation of the Tadfield band contest state, that if it were created at all and didn’t just start, as it where, unofficially, it came into being about 40 years ago. The Tadfield youth centre is generally believed to be 45 years old. These dates are incorrect.

Some students of the Tadfield high school put the date of the creation at 1990. Others put creation as far back as 1970. Also incorrect.

Former Tadfield Mayor James Ussher claimed that the youth centre and the band contest were created on Sunday, the 21st of October, 1988, at 9 am. This too was incorrect, by almost a quarter of an hour.

It was created at 9:13 in the morning, with a rather big hangover at all parties involved. Which was correct. The whole business with the support of young adults was a joke the sponsors of the contest haven’t seen yet. In reality it was just about getting as drunk as possible. But over time even the organizers forgot its original purpose, and maybe that for the better.

This proves two things: Firstly, that the judges do not play dice with the participating bands. At least they don’t do anymore. They play an ineffable game of their own devising. For everyone else, it’s like playing guitar in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a judge who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time. And that quite literally.

Secondly, the Tadfield band contest is a Libra. The entry for Libra in the Tadfield Advertiser on the night our history begins reads as follows: “ _You may be feeling run down and always in the same daily round. A friend is important to you. You may be vulnerable to a stomach upset today, so avoid salads. Help could come from an unexpected quarter._ ” This was perfectly correct on every count, especially the bit about the salads.

To understand the true significance of what that means, we need to begin earlier. A little more than 5 years earlier to be precise. Just after the beginning. It starts, as it will end, with a concert. In this case, the 25th anniversary celebrations of the Tadfield band contest. And with a guitar.

The music was thudding in his ears. All around him sweaty people threw themselves against Crowley to get a better view of the stage. At this moment is was occupied by a band, which members all wore rather long black hair, an exceptional amount of eyeliner, black nail polish and leather. The singer was currently screaming into his microphone, while the bass player tried to get Crowley’s eardrum to burst. Some people might have called it music.

Crowley himself convinced them to play. They were short a guitarist, but Crowley managed to persuade a young boy into being their replacement. Crowley knew him from the local church. Well he didn’t exactly know him, but he knew that he went there together with his parents, unlike Crowley. It was a small town.

He seemed hesitant at first, especially because the music of the band was very different from the stuff he was allowed to listen to at home. But now that the jitters had passed he was slamming the strings like a true rock star.

Crowley smiled to himself. Due to his skinny shape, he successfully wriggled through the crowd, until he reached the safer zone at the end of the room. Less people were hanging around here and he was actually able to move again, without colliding with foreign body parts. He looked around, trying to spot any members of his group.

Instead his eyes rested on another boy. He was standing all by himself at the very back of the room. Despite the hot temperatures in the hall, he was wearing a long coat, a waistcoat and an old-fashioned bowtie. He looked rather out of place. His hands fumbled uncomfortably with his sleeves.

Curiously Crowley edged closer and leaned on the wall next to him. The stone in his back felt cold compared to the stifling air.

It was a nice show. All the shows had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them, so far, and there were more to come. But the muttering of the crowed gathering at the east entrance suggested that the first strife was on its way. And it was going to be a big one.

With a loud bang the doors burst open and a furious looking woman stormed in, a pale man following closely after. The people carefully avoided stepping into their way, since the woman looked as if she was ready to kill each and every one of them.

“Julian!” she screeched. “What in the name of the almighty do you think you are doing?”

The music stopped. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Mum, what are you doing here?” the boy, Crowley had tempted into playing, now answered.

His face was red from embarrassment. His band mates seemed taken aback by the sudden interruption.

“You are disgracing me in front of my new friends!”

His mother was breathing heavily. Her hair had slipped from the usually tight nod. The man, obviously Julian’s father, was nervously glancing around.

“I will not have you play this unholy music! You will stop this at once!” The mother shouted.

Julian looked at his bandmates and back to his mother.

“No “, he said with a stern voice.

“I have been doing everything, you told me to do, for the last years of my life. But this is not who I am. I won’t let you put me down anymore.”

He straitened himself.

“Julian, are you out of your mind?”

The mother seemed near to hysterical now.

“Go away, mum. I need to finish this gig.”

He turned and gave the drummer a small nod. At the given count the band continued to play their music. The man and woman were left standing in the middle of the now ecstatic crowd, staring blankly at their once so innocent son.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon” Crowley said, more to himself than anyone else.

The boy next to him chuckled anyway. It was a very heart-warming sound. Then his features changed.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked. 

“I said ‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon’” Crowley repeated his statement.

“Yes, yes, it did, rather.”

The boy frowned. He still seemed very nervous.

“Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offence and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about finding your true passion anyway.”

Crowley shrugged.

The boy eyed him from under curly, white locks.

“Well it must be bad…”

He paused expectantly, obviously waiting for a name.

“Crowley” Crowley introduced himself.

He gave him a small wink. He always thought that was very cool.

“Crowley.”

The boy tasted the sound of this name on his lips.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t have tempted him into it.”

Crowley gave him an innocent smile.

“Oh, they just said ‘Get over there to the show and make some trouble’” he said.

The boy seemed even more nervous now. He avoided Crowley’s gaze.

“Well, obviously. You are an emo. I’ve heard the stories about your lot. It’s what you do.”

Crowley laughed. He found it kind of adorable, that the boy thought of him like this. All he did was smoke some ciggies and listen to some “unholy” music, the church people didn’t seem fit. And this boy was talking to him like he was some kind of high class criminal. It was flattering, really.

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, tough. To invent music like that and put it here on earth with a “Don’t Touch” sign. I mean, why not put it on the top a high mountain? Or on the moon? So people can never reach it. Or maybe just don’t invent it all.”

He paused.

“Makes you wonder what god is really planning.”

The boy seemed rather upset by this. He shook his head violently. Crowley liked picking at topics, sensible to people.

“Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the great plan. It’s not for us to understand. We just stick to the rules. Everything else will play out in the end. It’s ineffable.”

“This disaster was ineffable?”

Crowley laughed at the thought.

“Exactly. It had to happen. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.”

They watched the stage for another while. Crowley surveyed the boy and his expression, as the music got even louder. Then something came to his mind.

“Didn’t you have a guitar?”

“Uh…”

The boy looked down in embarrassment. He cheeks turned lightly red. Crowley watched it with a weird fascination. It looked kind of…nice?

“You did. It was the small one with all the stickers about god on it. I saw you playing it on the harvest festival last year. What happened to it?”

“Uh…”

His head was now fully pink. Crowley chuckled.

“Lost it already, have you?”

The boy fiddled with his bowtie. Why was he wearing one anyway? Not to say it didn’t suit him, but did he get stuck in the last century? Or was he just a big eccentric? His voice was barely audible as he spoke.

“Gaveitaway.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“You what?”

“I gave it away.” The boy said, louder this time. 

“Julian just really wanted to play. You don’t know him. He is such a good boy. His parents are a lovely couple. A string on his guitar ripped. And they were expecting him to play already. And I said, ‘Here you go. My guitar. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the almighty see what you are doing here.’”

He seemed horrified about his decision. His eyes were fixed on Julian’s movements on stage. He was rather enjoying himself and currently licking the neck of the guitar. The boy’s face twitched.

Crowley felt slightly moved, by the fact that the boy would give up his possession for anyone like that. It was an act of kindness he really wasn’t familiar with. Not with his people anyway. Everyone was just fighting for their own good.

“I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.” He said.

“Oh, you’re a, you now… _believer_. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” Crowley reassured him.

Maybe he was having a bit too much fun, messing with the boy like that. But then again the slight blush on his cheeks was really worth it.

“Oh, oh, thank- Oh, thank you. “ The boy said

“It’s been bothering me.”

He sighed in relief. Then he gave Crowley a small smile before turning back to the stage.

“I’ve been worrying, too.” Crowley said.

He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe he was just doing small talk. Maybe he really was pathetic and longed for even the slightest bit of compassion.

“What if I did the right thing with the whole “go play this music” business? An emo can get into a lot of trouble for doing nice things. It destroys our image.”

He thought of his people and the way they liked to treat outsiders. He gritted his teeth. Not really a good idea thinking about that now.

On stage the performance was now reaching its climax. Julian was violently smashing the guitar onto the floor, while the drummer was firing with every cymbal and drum available.

Crowley broke the silence between them once again.

“It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the nice thing and you did the “bad” one.”

He chuckled. The boy gave him an amused look and joined his laughter with his soft chuckle. But then the words seemed to catch up with his brain and the laughter stuck in his throat.

“No! It wouldn’t be funny at all.” He said, now alarmed.

Crowley turned back to the stage to reward the band with a round of applause.

“Well…” he said, as he watched the horrified expression on the other boy’s face with great satisfaction.

“If the plan really is ineffable, we will most certainly see.” 

Good Romance, being a narrative of certain events occurring in the last 11 month before the 30th Tadfield band contest, in strict accordance, as shall be sown, with the collection of nice and accurate lyrics of Agnes Nutter, visionary.

*************

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, but don’t let the weather fool you. Just because it’s a mild night, doesn’t mean that the forces of evil aren’t abroad. They are. They are everywhere. But not necessarily at this exact spot and not necessarily in this exact graveyard. The forces here were, if you’d have to describe them, mildly unpleasant at best.

Two Emos lurked at the edge of the graveyard. They were pacing themselves and could lurk for the rest of the night, if necessary, with still enough sullen menace left for a final burst of lurking around dawn.

The taller one of the two was called Hastur. He had pale skin, long, dark, fuzzy hair and wore a coat paired with a woollen scarf, to keep away the cold.

The other one was a bit smaller and had shorter hair. He wore a thick leather jacket with spikes and patches. His skin was of such a dark shade that is was barely visible against the dark of the night. His name was Ligur.

The cold had already crawled into their bones. Hastur was leaning against the cemetery wall and smoking a cigarette. The pile of stubs on the ground below him, told a story of how long they had been waiting already.

Hastur snapped away another stub. The top was still glimmering.

“Bugger this for a lark. He should have been waiting for us.” He said.

Ligur nodded in agreement.

“Do you trust him?” he asked.

He pulled the jacket a bit closer, to get better shielding from the frosty wind. 

“Nope.” Hastur said.

He lit another cigarette.

“Good. It would be a funny old world if Emos went around trusting each other.”

Ligur chuckled coldly. The looked over at the road, that was barely visible through the thick fog. There was still no sign of a car approaching.

“What’s he calling his failure of a band these days?” Ligur asked.

Hastur’s face twisted in disgust.

„Demons.” he said.

Only then the silence of the night was shattered by a car turning the corner at immense speed. The headlights cut through the fog and some birds flew away in panic. Even though all windows and doors were closed the tunes of My chemical romance’s “Welcome to the black parade” were distinctly audible.

„Here he comes now, the flash bastard.” Hastur spat.

He watched the car, as it pulled up to them, in disgust. It was a black Bentley with shining rims.

“If you ask me, he’s a total fake. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them. What kind of Emo is that supposed to be?”

The brakes screeched and the car halted before them. A door was slammed and a slim figure got out.

Crowley was wearing his hair longer than he used to. His flaming red curls now reached down to his shoulders. He wore big, round sunglasses, black, skinny pants, and a dark suit coat. Some chains were dangling from his neck.

Hastur and Ligur threw each other knowing glances.

“All hail Satan.” Hastur greeted Crowley.

This was their group’s official identification. Crowley stilted towards them. His walking always seemed a bit off, probably because his pants were too tight for him to move properly. Or maybe he was just trying to hide the fact that his legs seemed way to long for the rest of his body.

He raised a hand to greet the others, but he didn’t repeat the phrase. He never really cared for all that devoting stuff. He, too, didn’t seem too pleased to see them.

“Ehr, hi guys. Sorry I'm late, but, well, you know how it is on the A40 at Denham, and then I tried to cut up towards Chorleywood -“

Hastur quickly interrupted his rambling.

“Now that we are all here, we must recount the Deeds of the last Days.” He said.

He took another drag from his cigarette. The smoke left dark streaks in the cold air.

“Of course. Deeds. Yeah.“ Crowley said and scratched his head.

He had totally forgotten about that part of the process. Sure he liked going around and pissing off some blokes, who deserved it, but he only ever did it, when there was an opportunity. Never just because he had too.

„I pissed off the priest.” Hastur opened their discussion.

A wide grin spread on his face.

“I suggested that he might have had a thing with that pretty girl from down the street. In front of the whole lot of them. You should have seen their faces. He even called me a few of that bad words.”

Mockingly he threw his hands together in a prayer like gesture.

“He could have been a saint…” he shook his head in laughter.

Ligur, too, laughed at the story. Crowley flashed a small, but not very convincing, smile.

“Yeah. Nice one” he said.

Now it was Ligur’s turn. His eyes already glared with excitement.

“I was banned from entering the town hall. Sprayed some words along the lines of ‘These fuckers are all bribed’ on the walls. The mayor himself shouted at me. Got banned for lifetime.“ He said.

Hastur gave him an appreciative look and patted him on the back.

Now it was Crowley’s turn. He would just brag about something that came to his mind, like he always did. It just happened to be, that he actually had done something, he was rather proud of, today. He smiled, pleased with himself.

„Right, You'll like this.” He said.

“I brought down the churches phone network tonight.”

There was uncomfortable silence. The two watched Crowley expectantly, like he was going to come up with some amazing twist for his story. Finally Hastur broke the silence.

“Yeah”

Crowley was still grinning like stupid.

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy. Had to cut through the wire outside their community centre. Big, old lines, needed to get hedge shears for that. “

Ligur coughed. Hastur raised a questioning eyebrow.

“And what exactly has that done to secure our victory over the ‘believers’? It’s not like their line doesn’t work most of the time anyway.” He spat out that believer bit, like he had previously done with Crowley’s name. 

Crowley’s smile was slowly fading. He really didn’t want to be on their bad side. Man why did he have to be terrible, even at the thing he was supposed to be good at?

“Oh come on! Think about it.” He said.

“Hundreds of pissed-off people? Who can’t shout bad words but still take it out on each other? Who take it out on everyone else? Their kids, their family?”

Ligur hesitated.

„It’s not exactly... craftsmanship.” He said. 

Crowley shrugged. He had to change the topic as fast as possible. Otherwise he would only embarrass himself further.

“Well, Head office don’t seem to mind. They love me and my band.”

Of course the Emos didn’t have a real head office. The term referred to their group leader, the most emo of them all, who called himself Satan. He was very good with the whole drama part.

“Guys, times are changing. So” he snorted “what’s up?”

Hastur pulled a bottle of an very old and very rare champagne from his jacket.

“This is.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. His heart sank to his boots. Fuck.

“No.”

Ligur nodded. Now his lips had twisted into an evil smile. Apparently he enjoyed the fear that must have been visible on Crowley’s face.

“Yes.” He said.

Crowley tried to stay as calm as possible.

“Already?” he asked, very casual.

“Yes.”

He looked up at the other two, hoping that this would turn out to be a joke. This had to be. He couldn’t lose everything. He was not ready. His heart was beating very fast.

“And it’s up to me to...?”

Ligur nodded again.

“Yes.”

Crowley gulped. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“You know. This sort of... well, it really isn’t my scene.” He started rambling.

Ligur watched him the satisfaction now clearly showing on his face.

“Your scene, in every sense of that word. Your starring role. Take it.” He mocked.

Hastur enjoyed the fear in Crowley’s voice as well.

“Like you said. Times are changing.”

Ligur chuckled. Crowley would have very much liked to slap him.

“They’re coming to an end, for a start.”

No. There had to be a way. Crowley started another desperate attempt at pushing away responsibility.

“Why me?” He asked. 

“They love you and your band.”

Hastur was rather proud of himself for that little reference, smirking openly.

“And what an opportunity! Ligur here would give his entire Fall out boy collection to be you tonight.”

Ligur shrugged.

“Somebody’s Fall out boy collection, anyway.”

Hastur took a clipboard from the cemetery wall beside him.

“Sign here. “ He said.

Crowley reluctantly pulled a pen from his pockets and signed the paper. He really tried to keep them from trembling. He took the champagne bottle from Hastur. His hands were sweaty on the cold glass. Hopefully it wouldn’t slip from his grip. He would be as good as dead.

“Now what?” He asked, his voice crooked.

“You will receive your instructions.” Hustur explained. 

“And why so reluctant? The moment we have been working for all these years is at hand!”

Crowley nodded, distracted.

“Centuries.”

Ligur continued the chanting.

“Our moment of eternal triumph awaits!”

This might have been a bit of an overstatement, but then again they were Emos, so everything was an overstatement with them.

Crowled nodded again. He was not in the mood for celebration. He’d rather jump off a cliff.

“Triumph.” He said bluntly.

“And you will be a tool of that glorious destiny!”

Crowley could really do without being a toll in anyone’s destiny.

“Glorious. Tool. Yeah.”

He turned around to his still running car. Cold sweat was dripping down his back.

“Okay. I'll, ehr, be off then. Get it over with.” He said.

Soon he noticed what he had been saying.

“Not that I want to get it over with, obviously, but, I’ll be popping along.” He retracted quickly.

He gave them a last uncomfortable look.

“Great. Fine. Yeah.”

He walked towards his car and threw the champagne on the backseat. Maybe the bottle would shatter and this terrible nightmare would be over.

“Vale!” He called as a final goodbye.

The engine roared and the music started blasting again. Ligur and Hastur watched the lights fade away in the distance.

“What does that mean? ‘Vale’?” Ligur asked.

Hastur thought about it for a bit.

“It's the dead Italian language. The one, they speak in church. It means ‘whale’.”

************

Crowley was all in favour of Armageddon in general terms. Armageddon was what the kids of Tadfield liked to call the Tadfield band contest. Of course it wasn’t really _the_ Armageddon, but to most of them, it felt like it. Winning the contest could change your life forever and losing it could make you feel, like the world was going to end. It was the most important thing that was every going to happen to them.

Crowley, too, liked to think about playing at the Armageddon with his band. He really did. But it was one thing to work and practise for it and quite another for it to actually happen.

He was still speeding through the pitch black night. His CD player was still playing the heavy tunes of _Welcome to the black parade_. Crowley found the familiar tunes soothing. And he really could do with some soothing now.

It was the only thing he liked to listen to in his car.

It wasn’t like every CD would turn into a my chemical romance CD after a certain amount of time. Rather Crowley would just get sick of everything else after a while and turn back to them. It was a classic.

He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. His knuckles were already showing.

“Shit, shit, shit, why me?” He cursed.

He started to smash the wheel now. He felt hopeless and maybe also a bit stupid for believing he could somehow escape his fate. His rage was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“You’ve earned it, Crowley, didn’t you?”

He hadn’t noticed that his phone had automatically accepted a call from Satan. The words were gloaming dangerously on the display. His heart rate spiked even further.

“What you did to that one song was a stroke of musically genius, darling.”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“The sad one? Yeah, mhm… Yeah, I’m glad it turned out so well.”

He cleared his throat. Satan chuckled. A shiver went down Crowley’s spine. His voice sounded like oiled machinery, crushing people to death in the most stylish way possible. Maybe he was thinking a bit too vivid.

“Here are your instructions. This is the big one, Crowley.” He said and Crowley saw a message popping up on the display.

He tried to decipher some of the lines, but the text was too small. He leaned a bit closer. Then a loud honk shook him away. He had been concentrating on the phone so hard, that he had swayed into the approaching traffic. He could see the headlights of truck, coming closer at him, through the thick fog.

Forcefully he pulled the car back over and managed to dodge the truck by millimetres. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. He tried to steady his breath, but everything felt a bit foggy. He took another look at his phone, more carful this time, but the connection had already been cut.

He cursed again. This was going to be a fucking nightmare.

***********

Meanwhile the boy, whom Crowley had met so many years ago, was sitting at the local pizzeria. His name was Aziraphale. His parents, very religious people, had named him after the famous angle. It was cozy and warm inside. The chatter of many people was audible and Aziraphale felt very satisfied. The waiter was serving him his favourite pizza and gave him a kind smile.

“Ecco la tua pizza preferita, mio amico Aziraphale”

He had wrinkles around his eyes and a warm and friendly voice. Aziraphale liked him.

“Grazie, chef, è molto gentile da parte tua” He replied in fluent Italian.

Over the year he had picked up some useful phrases. The pizza was still steaming and Aziraphale inhaled the rich scents.

“Mhmmm” He said and was about the bite into his first slice.

Suddenly a person was standing next to him.

“Mind if I join you?”

Aziraphale looked up. He was looking at a man in his late fifties. He wore a long coat in clean grey colours and pastel scarf. He had his gloves in hand and was motioning to the empty seat across from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale recognised him as their local priest, Gabriel. He smiled, although rather running away screaming.

“Gabriel, what an unexpected pleasure. It’s been-“

“Quite a while, yes.”

Gabriel flashed him a stiff smile. Then he pointed at the huge pizza in front of Aziraphale.

“Why do you consume that? You are not an Emo.”

Aziraphale seemed shocked.

“It’s pizza. It’s nice. You can put everything you like on this. It’s what musicians do. And if I am going to play in a band, ahem, well, keeping up appearances.”

He chuckled.

“A slice?” He offered and lifted one of the slices for Gabriel to take.

The cheese dripped from the dough in long strings. Gabriel looked disgusted.

“I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with…gross matter.” He said.

Aziraphale chuckled again. But this time it was only to break the uncomfortable silence. Gabriel was really forward about how he thought about most things. Sometimes it made Aziraphale cringe. But then it was his right too, as he knew the ways of god the best.

“Obviously not.” He said.

Gabriel ordered a salad. They stayed silent while eating.

“Nice guitar” Aziraphale finally said and nodded in the direction of Gabriel’s guitar case that was leaning against the table.

Gabriel put down his fork. He felt a bit sick. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted the salad, like his gut had told him to.

“Yes, I like the practicing bit. Pity we won’t do that for much longer.” He said.

“We won’t?”

Aziraphale frowned. It felt like something really bad was creeping up on him. Gabriel nodded.

“We have reliable information that things… are afoot.”

The pizza in Aziraphale’s mouth tasted a bit staler. He lowered the slice in his hand.

“They are?”

“Yes. My informant suggests that the guitarist from ‘The Demons’…Crowley?”

Aziraphale nodded approvingly. His heart make a weird jump as Gabriel mentioned Crowley’s name. Maybe it was fear.

“May be involved. You need to keep him under observation, without, of course, letting him know that’s what you’re doing.”

Aziraphale wiped off the grease with the napkin to keep his hands from fiddling with his sleeves.

“I do know, yes. I’ve been in ‘the scene’ doing this since the beginning.”

Gabriel vaguely tilted his head.

“So has Crowley. It’s a miracle he hasn’t spotted you yet.”

He laughed.

“Yes, I know. Miracles are what we do.”

Aziraphale forced a smile. Really his hands were sweating terribly.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Gabriel said and stood up from his chair.

Aziraphale starred at his Pizza, which now didn’t seem that great after all. Although very relieved that Gabriel was gone, he was left with a bad feeling that his life would soon change for better or for worse.

***********

Crowley wasn’t the only one that was speeding over the dark streets of Tadfield that evening.

Meet Deirdre and Arthur Young. They were teachers at the high school of Tadfield and currently on their way to pick up their nephew, Adam, whom they had never met, from the local train station.

Adam was supposed to spend the next month at their place, since he had been offered a job in the area and, living here, it would be much easier to run through possible interviews.

An argument had erupted.

“Are we there yet, Arthur? The train is going to be there soon.” Deirdre complained.

Arthur sighed.

“It’s definitely this way. It’s just the roads look all different in the dark.” He tried to explain, sounding exhausted by their conversation already.

“Christine said to be there at five o’clock sharp.” Deirdre noted.

Arthur rolled his eyes

“It’s just an-” he started but was interrupted by a gasp.

“Oh, do we have any egg and cress sandwiches? He must be really hungry!”

But they were not the only people heading for tad field station. Actually, it felt like all the cars, currently on the street, where heading for that explicit location.

Meet Harriet Dowling and her husband, Tadfield band contest organizer, Taddeus Dowling.

Harriet was having a panic attack. She was supposed to pick up this year’s contest judge, Adam Young, guitarist and singer. But she had problems with social anxiety and couldn’t cope with the thought, of having to do small talk with him, even for a few minutes. Her husband was not in the car with her.

“Breathe, honey. Just breathe.” He told her over the phone.

“I am breathing goddamn it, Tad! Why aren’t you here?”

“Honey, I’m with you. I’m with you. I’m just also here with the label.” He said.

“Hey, Harriet, sorry we had to borrow your husband.” Thaddeus’ boss shouted from the back.

“Organizing a band contest for talented teenagers is the single most joyous co-experience that two human beings can share. It has been our dream forever. I was so glad we were able to take this responsibility from my dad. I promise I’m not going to miss a second of it.”

There was an inaudible dialog in the back.

“Tad, if we could get back to the matter at hand.” His boss shouted again.

“I’ll get back to you, honey” Thaddeus said apologetically.

Harriet screamed in frustration.

“You’re meant to be with me, you useless son of a bi-”

The line went dead.

************

Tadfield station was a very regular train station. The old brick building was covered in ivy and it had that enormous clock at its entrance, like every train station did. The most unusual thing, you could have said about Tadfield station, would have been that its technology got stuck somewhere in the 20th century.

There were no information boards, no electrical signs for departure or arrival. Instead they had a rather complex group of station masters. Well, station mistresses, to be precise. For some reason this job was only executed by woman in their late fifties.

People liked to call them the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl, because everything they would do was to exchange gossip. If you’d try to ask them about a connection to the nearest town, you would also end up with the latest news on Mr. Dicer’s affair and the one of his granddaughter. It seemed they had made a vow to never shut up, even for a single minute.

Currently, the mistresses were having a meeting in the station overview. The head mistress, Mistress Superior, was talking. Behind her was a clipboard, on which their plan had been displayed.

“At some point this evening, Mrs. Dowling will arrive. There will undoubtedly be other civilians with her on the platform. You are all to ensure that they see nothing untoward. Mistress Theresa and I will deliver the champagne on platform four. Once he has tasted the sweet gift, we will ensure that he knows where this has come from and initiate further influencing. Everything is ready. Tonight, it begins.”

She paused and gave each of her followers a meaningful glance. One of the mistresses in the first row raised her hand.

“Mistress Mary Loquacious?” Mistress Superior asked, trying hard to keep her voice calm.

Mistress Mary was a very devoted mistress, but she was not exactly the smartest of them all. Mistress Mary cleared her throat.

“Yes, excuse me Mistress Superior, I was wondering where the champagne was going to come from? Not the judge, that Young guy, I mean, that’s obvious. That’s just the train and stuff, but, you know, the, um…”

Mistress Superior interrupted her. She shook her head in frustration. They had already gone over this several times.

“Mr. Crowley is on his way with the significant beverage, Mistress Mary. We do not need to know more than that. We are station mistresses of the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl. And tonight is what our order was created for.”

Nobody exactly knew how the station mistresses and the Emos had come to know each other. Some assumed it was because the Emos liked to spend time at the platforms, appreciating the possibility to jump I front of the next train. Others said it was because the accidents, caused by the Emos, always gave the mistresses good inducement for gossip. Whether this is true, is not important for our story. Fact is that the order was working really hard to put the plan of the emos in place.

As always, there was chatter.

“Mistress Grace, you are on duty reception. Mistress Maria Verbrose and Katherine Prolix, you will assist Mistress Theresa. The rest of you know your duties.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

There was the wailing of a train whistle in the distance.

Excited the mistresses sprang into action. The chatter grew, if possible, even louder.

“Oh it’s the train!” One of them cried in expectancy.

Mistress superior quietened the mess.

“Places!” she ordered.

Everyone scooped away. Now only Mistress Mary was left in the room.

“Excuse me, Mistress Superior. I didn’t get a job.” She said, laughing nervously.

“Probably an oversight.” 

Mistress Superior nodded. Of course it hadn’t been an oversight. She liked to think that Mistress Mary was not involved in the delicate process of the exchange. That would only make everything more complicated. So she smiled and tried to play it down.

“Yes, of course. You could make sure there are biscuits. The kind with pink icing. I think we have a tin in the station larder.” She said.

Mistress Mary’s face lit up and she bowed, before hurrying after the others.

And so the events took their course.

The old, run down car of Mr. and Mrs. Young rolled on the forecourt of the station, under the watchful eye of the station mistresses. It was closely followed by Harriet Dowling’s, newer and way fancier specimen.

Mr. and Mrs. Young entered the station, only to be greeted by Mistress superior and Mistress Theresa, who thought them to be Mr. and Mrs. Dowling. Mrs. Young was very nervous. Her fingers were continuously fumbling with the bag of egg and cress sandwiches. They also brought a very cheap bottle of champagne.

“Welcome to Tadfield Station.” Mistress Superior greeted them cheerfully.

“We weren’t expecting you this late.”

Mrs. Young rolled her eyes.

“Trains. You know how it is.”

Mistress Theresa forced a laugh.

“Now, Arthur and I want to pick up Adams from the platform and…” She continued to explain, but was interrupted.

“I’m afraid not.” Mistress Superior said with an apologetic glance at Arthur.

“We believe that too many people on the platforms, uh, complicate the process for everybody. He can wait with the car.” She explained.

“But—“ 

Mr. Young sighed.

“I’m not going to argue with station mistresses. It’s their job. They know what they’re doing, Deirdre. I’ll see you when he’s…”

Mistress Superior nodded and pulled Mrs. Young in the direction of the platforms.

“She’ll be on platform 4.”

“Right.”

Arthur laughed. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pockets turned to walk out the doors again.

“Good- Good luck.” He shouted after them.

He took the bottle of champagne with him. At least it would stay cool, outside in the night. Maybe it would even be edible then.

Only then, the doors swung up a second time to let Harriett Dowling pass into the old entrance hall. She was still panicking, but she had been able to reconnect with her husband She was gripping her phone very tight.

Since all the other mistresses were on their assigned positions she was only greeted by Mistress Grace. She frowned as she saw the woman, who she believed to be a civilian, enter the scene of their scheme. 

Mr. Dowling was still trying to calm his wife.

“Breathe, dear, breathe.” he said.

“I am breathing!” Harriet screamed at her husband.

She turned to Mistress Grace, her voice suddenly very friendly again. You learn to do that when organizing a band contest.

“Excuse me.” She said. “I’m looking for the train that’s arriving now?”

Mistress Grace gave her a forced smile and quickly led her to platform three.

Outside Crowley’s Bentley had appeared in the entry of the station.

It may help to understand human affairs, if you notice that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of human history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.

“You’ve left your lights on.” Arthur Young said, cigarette between his lips.

Crowley paid him no mind as he swaggered past him, towards the building. He was in a very bad mood, and close to murdering anyone, who would only as much as say another word to him. Arthur shrugged.

“Oh. Well that’s Willingness to take risks for you.” He said. 

“Is the battery strong?”

Crowley didn’t bother answering.

“Has the train arrived, yet?” He asked instead.

Arthur took a drag from his cigarette.

”Um…They made me go out.” He admitted.

“Any idea how long we've got?”

“I think you, ehr, you could still catch it, if you hurry, mate.”

Crowley sighed in relief. Maybe he would be able to full fill this job after all. Maybe he wasn’t that screw-up of a person.

“Got it. What platform?” He asked.

Arthur stepped out the glimmering stub on the cold ground and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was chilly, he noticed.

“It’s on platform four” He answered.

“Platform four, got it.” Crowley said and disappeared through the doors.

There is a trick they do with four playing cards which is very hard to follow. And something like it, for greater stakes than a handful of loose change, is about to take place.

Deirdre Young is on platform four. She is expecting a golden-haired, male human we will call ‘Adam A’. Harriet Dowling is waiting on platform three. She is supposed to pick up a golden-haired male human we will call ‘Adam B’. Mistress Mary Loquacious is about to be handed a decades old, very rare and particularly tasty champagne we will call ‘Champagne A’. Mr. Young, who is still standing outside, next to his car, is holding a very cheap bottle of champagne we will call ‘Champagne B’.

“Is that it?” Mistress Mary asked, as Crowley handed her the bottle.

“Yup.” He said, popping the p at the end.

She turned the bottle in her hands and examined every feature of the label.

“Only I'd expected more glamour. Or a golden bottle. Or extravagant wrapping.” She said.

Crowley seemed a bit annoyed.

“The champagne is expensive enough.”

Mistress Mary smiled to herself as her hands tenderly brushed over the glass.

“Fancy me holding something this expensive. And smelling its ancient perfume...”

She lifted the bottle up to her nose, but the only thing she could smell was the muddy odour of the cork.

“Does it smell like France? I bet it does. Do you smell like France and summer?”

She tickled the bottle like someone might do with a baby. Crowley was seriously questioning her sanity.

“It doesn’t.” he said.

And motioning over to the stairs:

“Take it up to platform four.”

Mistress Mary was torn away from her daydreams of France and the gossip on rich people’s parties.

“Ah, yes, platform four.” She said.

Crowley was already half way through the doors, when she spoke up again.

“Do you think Master Satan will remember our part in this plan?” She asked.

Crowley twisted his mouth.

“Pray that he doesn’t.” He said and the doors banged shut behind him.

Two Adams. Two bottles of champagne. Watch carefully. Round and round they go.

Mistress Mary was rather proud of the job she had been assigned. She strutted around the station with fast steps, carrying the bottle like a holy grail in front of her.

Mistress Grace made her way back from platform three. She saw the other mistress running around, clearly not guarding her position, and was put off by Mistress Mary’s happy face.

“Mistress Mary” she asked in an alarmed tone.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be taking biscuits to the refectory?”

Mistress Mary grinned proudly.

“Master Crowley said to take the champagne to platform four.”

Horrified the other woman noticed the bottle that was currently resting in Mistress Mary’s hands. Reverent her eyes wandered over the whole bottle. Then she straightened up again.

“Well, get on with it, then.” She said.

The two nodded at each other, and continued their missions. 

After a while Arthur Young got tired of standing alone in the cold. Of course, he would not argue with the wisdom of the station mistresses, but he felt like the train should have already arrived half an hour ago. It was taking them way too long, to get back to the car.

He was cold and his fingers, still gripping the bottle, felt stiff. He really should take a look, if everything was fine.

Mr. Young was right, of course. It really had been half an hour. But then again, these were trains. No train is ever on time.

He entered the building again. The doors slammed rather loudly in the empty hall. None of the mistresses was there, so he strode though it, to find platform four. Soon his way led him up the stairs to find Mistress Mary waiting at the landing. She was still holding the other bottle and watching Mrs. Young, who was, in turn, waiting for the train.

“Has it arrived yet? I’m the uncle. The husband. Both.” He said.

Mistress Mary turned and smiled at his sudden presence.

“Ooh yes. Your lady wife’s still waiting, poor pet. It’s rather cold out here isn’t it?”

Arthur nodded in agreement. Then he pointed at the beverage in her hands.

“Champagne? What? Nobody said anything about another champagne.”

He showed her the bottle in his hands.

“Oh, no!”

Mistress Mary chuckled in distress. Nobody had told her how to handle this situation. Only the future judge, the man named Adam, was supposed to know about this.

“It’s not for you. That one's… for the Adam man. Just looking after it”

Her smile seemed a bit forced, still Arthur tilted his head understandingly.

“No, no, this one's for the Adam man, your organizer-ship. From the top of its cork to the bottom of its briby purpose”

She laughed nervously.

“Which it hasn't got.”

Mr. Young seemed a bit confused. If he had known, that the judge for a very important band contest was arriving at the platform, just across them, this might have made much more sense to him. Like this he only wondered who would want to bribe his nephew. And why there suddenly were two bottles of champagne.

“Oh. All, ehr, a small present, is it?” He said.

Mistress Mary nodded.

“Oh, yes. Small. Very, very small.”

On platform 3 the train, which contained Adam A, was now arriving. The steam, the hot wheels produced on the frosty tracks, was wafting around them. Harriet smiled as a single man got out of the compartments. He had short curls, was wearing a jeans jacket with many patches and carried a guitar case.

“Mr. Young!” Harriet called, now excited.

And to her husband she said.

“Honey, I have the honour to report the successful arrival of our guest.”

She was beaming. Mr. Dowling laughed happily.

“That’s amazing, honey.”

In the back there was an indistinct conversation. He laughed again, now obviously talking to someone in the back.

“This very-proud-husband is all yours, Mr Dorian.” He said.

The call disconnected again and Harriet ran down the platform to help Adam with his things.

On platform four the train, containing Adam B, was arriving as well. This put Mistress Theresa in some distress.

“Where is the champagne? Satan, give me strength. Do you know where the champagne for our guest is?” She said, running about in the station, desperately looking for their bribe.

“Mistress Mary Loquacious has him.” Mistress Grace explained.

This only caused Mistress Theresa to walk even faster.

Mistress Mary, in turn, was still talking to Arthur young. They were involved in a heavy conversation about presents. They had compared the bottles and labels of both brands. Mistress Mary was pointing at the bottles.

“Now we call these “small”, but you’ll be looking at them and going” She made quotes with her fingers ““expensive””.

Mr Young seemed a bit irritated.

“I call them small.” He said.

For him a bottle of champagne was, in fact, a small present, that’s why he had brought one after all. Of course he didn’t know what kind of champagne he was currently looking at.

Mistress Theresa was fast approaching them. She was short of breath and pointing vaguely at the bottles in their hands.

Mistress Mary gave her a short wink, presenting her the bottle in her hands.

As methods of human communication go, the human wink is quite versatile.

For example, Mistress Theresa’s meant ‘Where the hell have you been? We’re ready to present the champagne, and here’s you on the platform of the bribe with two champagnes.’ And as far as she was concerned, Mistress Mary’s answering wink meant ‘The bribing is done. The bottle, already in the hands of the organizer, is the bribe. The one I’m handing you is a cheap copy that needs to be removed. But I can’t talk now, because there’s the organizer standing next to me here.’

Mistress Mary on the other hand, had thought that Mistress Theresa’s wink was more on the lines of ‘Well done, that, Mistress Mary. Already brought the champagne to the right platform, all by herself. Now, indicate to me the true bottle, and I shall give it to the judge and let you continue your conversation with the organizer.’ 

Mistress Theresa smiled and grabbed Bottle A.

“Extra champagne removal.” She said.

Then she hurried off to get rid of the bottle, she thought to be Bottle B.

In the entrance hall she met Mrs. Dowling, who was walking Adam A two her car. They were chatting happily. Adam was only now thanking her for this opportunity.

Harriet thought he was talking about his work as a judge, but he was, of course, talking about his job interview here.

Mistress Theresa called after them.

“Here is a little gift for the newly arrived.” She said and handed Adam A the bottle.

“Oh look, Adam. How very thoughtful.” Harriet said and gave the mistress a kind smile.

Her panic had vanished. Adam seemed to be a very nice person.

“Oh thank you, Mistress. What a little surprise, huh?”

He laughed and showed his incredibly white teeth. It was a very warm laugh.

“Oh, seeing people being so friendly makes me understand what’s important in life. It’s not any new job. It’s being with you.”

Mrs. Dowling flushed a bit. Adam was a natural charmer.

“I’m going to spent as much time with these amazing people as possible. And on Sundays I’ll go fishing…”

He chuckled.

“Sorry, got carried away there for a bit. I’m just really glad to finally be here.”

He sighed, satisfied. Mrs. Dowling smiled too.

“We’re glad to have you too, Adam” she said.

They said their final goodbye to Mistress Theresa, not without Adam thanking her again, and left the station for their car.

Meanwhile Mistress Mary and Mr. Young were still discussion the topic of presents.

“Confetti? No, I’ always fancied something more, well, traditional. We've always gone in for good simple things in our family.” Mr. Young said, frowning.

“A voucher. Very modern, voucher, really.” Said Mistress Mary, but Arthur shook his head.

“Hmm.”

She thought about it again.

“Well, there's always . . . I mean, there's always… Adam!” She exclaimed.

“Adam?” Mr. Young asked.

Then it dawned on him.

“Oh right, Adam.”

The train had arrived and single person had gotten out of the conveyance.

He was wearing slim leather trousers, a leather jacket and his hair was styled with as much hair gel as possible. He seemed disinterested. This was Adam B.

“Adam!” Mrs. Young said excitedly and tried to pull him into a hug.

He pushed her away, which left Mrs. Young with a hurt expression.

“Yeah, hi.” He said, chewing on some very old gum.

Mrs. Young didn’t know what to do with the distant behaviour.

“Her, yeah, well…Come on then.” She said.

She took his guitar case. Still looking pissed, Adam followed her down the platform.

Mr. Young had watched everything from a safe distance. He leaned over to whisper something in Mistress Mary’s ear.

„Do you know what? I don’t think he looks like an accounted.” He said.

************

Crowley was on his way back from the train station. He was, again, driving at a speed that was not quite customized for the road and lighting conditions.

His first thoughts were about what all of this meant for him. But then his they quickly swayed into a different direction. What would all of this mean for Aziraphale? Maybe he would never see him again after all of this. His chest felt heavy.

He glared at his phone display.

“Call Aziraphale.” He shouted.

It was a miracle the technical assistant of his phone was able to hear him over the roaring of the engine.

“Calling Aziraphale.” It said with the typical, female announcement voice.

Then there was a beeping, that indicated the disconnection of the line. Crowley fingers were thrumming on the steering wheel.

“Sorry. All lines to Tadfield church network are currently busy.”

Crowley groaned. Usually it was easiest to call Aziraphale over the church’s phone network. Only problem was, that he taken it down only a few hours earlier. He sighed.

Aziraphale was there while standing in his parent’s bookshop. It was late after closing hours, but he’d like to stay there, firstly because he liked the atmosphere the old books were radiating, and secondly because he liked to avoid his parents as much as possible. He was listening to some classical music and silently humming along with the orchestra.

The telephone on the counter rang. It was a very old fashioned rotary phone. Everything about this shop was really old fashioned, as were Aziraphale and his parents themselves. Aziraphale hesitated before picking up the phone. Actually he had been looking forward to some quite time with any of the books from the long shelves.

“I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed. “ He said, after lifting up the receiver anyway.

There was some weird static in the line. Then a familiar voice began to talk. Aziraphale's breathing picked up a bit.

“Aziraphale, it’s me. We have to talk.”

Aziraphale gulped. He would recognize Crowley’s voice anywhere. Also the distinct sounds of My chemical romance in the background kind of gave it away.

“Yes, yes, I rather think we do.” He said.

“I assume this is about…”

“Armageddon, yes.”

***********

Everyone knows the best place for a clandestine meeting in Tadfield was, and always had been, St. James’ Park. Most people would only recognise this name from the famous London St. James’ Park. Very few knew that there actually was a much smaller counterpart, right in the middle of Tadfield.

They say the ducks there, like in St. James’ Park, are so used to being fed by pensioner, which Tadfield had quite a lot of, that they’ve developed Pavlovians reactions to them. The old Russian granny’s black bread was particularly sought after by the more discerning duck.

Crowley and Aziraphale had been meeting here for quite some time.

They were sitting on a bench. Aziraphale liked to call it their bench. He would smile every time he walked past it.

The sun was shining. A mother with a stroller walked past them.

Crowley was nearly lying on the bench, his feet lazily stretched.

Aziraphale on the other hand seemed quite unrelaxed. He position was stiff and he was shifting nervously on the wood of the bench.

“You’re sure it was the judge?” He asked.

Crowley nodded.

His long hair fell into his face. For once his sunglasses actually had a reason to sit on his nose. Aziraphale couldn't help but notice how the light perfectly catched in his curls.

“I should know. I delivered the champagne. Well, not “delivered” delivered, you know? I’m not a parcel carrier. Handed it over.”

“Champagne? Really? As if the judge was some superficial official, who is bribed that easily.”

Crowley laughed.

“You’d be surprised. I’ve heard he’s quite the prick.” He said.

Aziraphale skillfully ignored Crowley’s cursing. He was used to this by now. ~~He wouldn't have it any other way.~~

There was a short pause.

In the distance a child began to cry.

“We will win, of course” Aziraphale said.

Crowley had to chuckle again.

“You really believe that?”

Aziraphale looked at him in shock.

“Obviously. Order will finally triumph over your hellish little schemes.”

He smiled.

“It’s all going to be rather lovely.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Out of interest, how many great things did your _order_ give you? Because music definitely isn’t _order_. Mozart. Beethoven. Uh, Schubert. Uh, All the Bachs. Pure chaos. All those note jumbled up.”

He shook his head, chuckling. Aziraphale looked upset. Something about the way Crowley was talking, resonated with him. Doubts, that most of his superiors would have called very blasphemous, lingered in the back of his mind. He tried to shove them away.

“They have already been written down, therefore they are in order. All the songs we wrote with our band. This is no chaos. It makes total sense. It’s a clear chord structure. It has an order.“ He insisted underlining his words with his hands.

“And you’ll never hear it again.” Crowley said.

“You’ll go back to only singing music in your fancy little services. No more practicing with your band. No more writing music. Just _celestial harmonies_ , or whatever.”

Crowley snorted in disgust.

“Well…” Aziraphale said, unsettled. Crowley continued.

“And that’s just the start of what you’ll lose, if you win. No more pizza evenings with you band. No special four season’s pizza. No more Beatles covers.”

Aziraphale felt a weird sadness. He knew Crowley was right. But he also knew that putting all of this behind him, was the right thing to do. Go back to concentrating on the important things.

Crowley sighed. He stood up. Aziraphale followed his example, running after him to catch up with Crowley’s long steps.

They strode out of the park towards Crowley’s Bentley. It was, of course, parked in a no parking zone.

“We’ve only got 11 month. And then it’s all over. We have to work together.” Crowley said.

His tone has turned pleading. Aziraphale hesitated. He felt his heart grow heavy.

He never would sit on their bench again. After all Crowley would have no reason to meet up with him after all of this was over. But then on the other hand, he could not ignore everything he had been taught. He shook his head.

“No.” he said sternly.

Crowley groaned.

“It’s the band contest we’re talking about. Armageddon, you remember?”

Aziraphale threw him an annoyed glance.

“It’s not some little duty I’ve asked you to cover for me while I’m up in Edinburgh for the metal festival. You can’t just say no.”

He pulled his keys from his pockets. Aziraphale shook his head again, more angry this time. ~~He wanted to say yes.~~ He couldn't. He couldn't.

“No.” he repeated.

Crowley rested his arms on the roof of the Bentley.

“We can do something. I have an idea.” He said.

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks. Maybe If there really was a chance….No!

“I. Am. Not. Interested.” He said emphatically, glaring at Crowley. Why did he have to be so damn persistent.

Crowley sighed again and raised his arms in defeat. He opened the car.

“Well, let’s have lunch then.” He said.

“I still owe you one from...”

“9th grade” Aziraphale said, softer now.

He still remembered that day in every detail. ~~It was one of his happiest memories.~~

“Yes, the Reign of Terror. The look on the guys face was amazing”

Crowley laughed. Aziraphale smiled too. ~~He loved the way the light made Crowley's eyes twinkle.~~

“We had crepes.” He said, already lost in the memory again.

Like usually, they didn’t really have dinner. The ended up eating takeout in the bookshop. Here they could eat in peace, without being on the lookout for any people of their respective sides.

“That was scrumptious.” Aziraphale groaned.

He dabbed his mouth with a cheap paper napkin. Crowley thought it was quite adorable really.

“So, what are you in the mood for now?” He asked Crowley, who was lying on the sofa next to him, stretching out all four.

He, too, seemed very eaten up.

“Alcohol.” He cried, raising one hand skywards.

“Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

“Well, I have several very nice bottles of Chateuneuf De Papes in the back. I picked up a dozen cases from the harvest festival, you remember? And there’s still some left, for special occasions.”

“Chateuneuf De Papes ?” Crowley asked, lazily lifting his head to look at Aziraphale.

“It’s a wine.” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley shrugged.

“As long as it has alcohol.”

Aziraphale got up to get the bottle.

“Not very big on the drinking part in church, are they?” Crowley asked.

The fear crept back into Aziraphale’s heart. He really hoped Crowley wouldn’t bring it up again. There was nothing he could say.

“Except for the whole blood thing of course. But I mean, real drinking. Having fun. Having a beer. Or a Single malt scotch. Or little… little froufrou cocktails with umbrellas.”

He made a motion with his hand that could be loosely identified as fiddling with an umbrella.

Aziraphale tiredly rubbed his face. He knew that if Crowley would keep on asking, he would eventually become soft. ~~Damn his smile.~~

“Crowley, I’ve told you. I’m not helping you. I’m not interested. This is purely social. I am a Christian. You are…”

He looked at Crowley, who was now slurping noodles he had laid on his face.

“Well, you are you. We’re hereditary enemies.”

Maybe there was a bit too much fondness in his voice. Crowley rolled his eyes.

That night, Arthur and Deirdre Young, proudly took the man they believed was theirs nephew Adam to their quite cottage right outside the centre of Tadfield. Adam Warlock Young, to other known as the judge of Tadfield band contest, had been with them for 24 hours. While in the bookshop with the interesting name “London’s Soho” a Christian and an Emo had been drinking solidly for the last six of them.

“So what…Exactly…Is. Your. Point?” Aziraphale asked.

He had difficulties forming the words his head was trying to get across. He was clinging to a nearly empty wine bottle.

“Ma point is. Ma point is…”

Crowley tried to think about what his point had been.

“Guitars. That’s ma point.” He said, raising his wine bottle to point at Aziraphale.

“Strings. Three, no four, no…many strings. Not to mention piano. String city, pianos”

He hiccupped.

“The youth centre.” Aziraphale said.

“Ooh, Many, many instruments. Many, many strings. Some other band is supposed to practice there right… right after the end, when the contest is over.”

Crowley took another deep gulp. He was holding onto one of the pillars of the shop, so he would not fall over.

“Well, That’s my point” He babbled.

“Whole contest thing, _The Demons, The Angles_ , our bands, turning into redund-, redundanc-, redun-“

The word would not leave his tounge. Aziraphale joined his desperate attempts.

“Redundan-”

“Things nobody needs anymore” Crowley broke their loop.

“Aaaanyway, it’s not their fault. It’s not our fault. And that’s the same with popstars. They say, like Whoops, they say a lot of,…you’re famous now, then there’s stars crashing down, you know that kind of stars.”

He made a vague motion.

“And what the hell are they putting in that blood wine thingy these days?”

Aziraphale shook his head in confusion. He was close to falling asleep. His eyelids felt very heavy.

“They’re all musicians great and small…” He agreed with Crowley.

“And you know what’s worse?” Crowley said and straightened up to look at Aziraphale.

His eyes were intensely starring into Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale felt a weird dizziness. They were big and sad. All these feelings, that Aziraphale’s drunk brain could not comprehend.

“When it’s all over, you are going to have to deal with this...ALL YOUR LIFE!”

He screamed the last words.

“All my life?” Aziraphale asked, horrified.

“Yeah, it won’t be so bad at first. But then you will come to experience what it truly means to be part of your…community. I have heard rumours that your boss really loves dodecaphonism. Fancy spending all your life listening to that? You could literally play every song of the white album over and over and over...”

He lost himself in the repetition and tripped over, landing on his butt.

Aziraphale didn’t laugh at him. He was too busy processing Crowley’s words. Never again would they sit together like this. Never again would they eat greasy food together. Never again would Crowley smile at him like that, when he thought Aziraphale did something stupid.

“I don't like it any more than you do, but I told you. I can't diso - not do what I'm told. 'ma'nchristian. I...”

He paused, searching for words. His head was spinning. His heart felt torn between what he had always been told was right, and ~~what he actually wanted~~ , what he had grown so used to over the years.

“I, God, I can't cope with this while 'm drunk. I'm going to sober up” He finally said to mitigate the situation.

Crowley nodded.

“Yeah, me too.”

He passed out backwards on the floor.

*********

Harriet Dowling took Adam Young to his new home, an official Tadfield music residence. The mistresses of the Tadfield station watched them, pleased to have executed everything their allies had told them to.

They weren’t the only ones. Hastur stepped out of the dark behind one of the old brick walls.

Mistress Superior shrieked in surprise, but quickly regained her composure.

“Our mission is done. The Adam is in place and the organizers are none the wiser.” She said, suggesting something like a small bow with her head.

“Well, no need for the lot of you any longer, then, is there?” Hastur asked.

He had an evil smile on his face. Mistress Superior and Mistress Theresa looked at him, puzzled.

“I’m afraid I-“

“Shut up!”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hear your stupid gossip.”

“What?” Mistress Theresa asked again, clearly surprised by the idea that anyone would not find interest in such delicate information.

“Now hang on a moment. We did everything that was asked of us. What about our reward?” She said.

“So. Fucking. Annoying. You speak before thinking, do you?” Hastur asked.

He had lit another cigarette.

“We are a chattering order. We say what is on our minds. And what’s on the people’s minds. And right now, what’s on my mind is that you can’t treat us like-”

“What do you lot say to some new gossip?” Hastur interrupted her.

The mistresses looked at him expectantly. Hastur watched the hunger in their eyes with pleasure.

“The hottest gossip tonight, quite literally.”

He chuckled.

“That could be quite the story for you. You could tell them how you miraculously escaped the fire.”

Mistress Theresa and Mistress Superior looked at each other in bewilderment.

“What fire?” They asked.

Hastur laughed and dropped his cigarette to the ground. The trail of petrol, he had left there earlier, quickly caught fire. The mistresses ran away screaming, while Hastur was laughing manically, the heat burning on his pale skin. 

************

“Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t! I can't interfere with the plans of my superiors.” Aziraphale said.

He had a headache, a rather big one at that. Might happen if you consumed several bottles of Chateuneuf De Papes. Or maybe it was about the impossible decision he was facing.

It was the next morning. The bookshop reeked of greasy take away food and alcohol.

Crowley rolled his eyes. He had spent enough time with Aziraphale to know that this was his last excuse. His last resort. He would never do anything to disobey his superiors. It wasn’t in his nature.

“Well, what about “evil” planes. You can’t be certain that thwarting me isn’t part of their plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the “evil” One at every turn, aren't you?”

He made quotes with his fingers at the word evil. Of course both of them had quite different opinions about the definition of good and evil.

“Well...” Aziraphale said, looking down nervously.

He avoided Crowley's eyes, so he wouldn't be able to see how much he actually wanted to say yes.

“You see a wile, you thwart. Am I right?”

Crowley laughed. He was not very familiar with the manners of the church. Only thing he knew was to avoid them like hell.

“I…Broadly.” Aziraphale said.

“Actually I–“

“But, The judge is here now.” Crowley interrupted him.

“But it's not the contest that's important. It’s the time before that, the influences. The “evil” influences, that’s all going to be me. My people want me to be there and make sure that he remembers us, remembers me, so he will give us the price in the end.”

He stared at Aziraphale.

“It’d be too bad if someone made sure that I failed.”

Aziraphale nervously plucked his lip. He didn’t like the idea forming in his head. He didn’t like that is felt so very tempting.

“If you put it that way…”

He hesitated. Maybe this was his way out. A way that would please all parties involved. Even himself.

“My people couldn't actually object if I was thwarting you...”

“No. Be a real feather in your wing.” Crowley agreed. 

Aziraphale thought about it for a few seconds.

“Ok. I’ll do it.” He finally said.

Crowley gave him a contented grin. He offered him his hand. Aziraphale looked at it, uncertainly. Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale sighed and took it. Crowley’s hand was very soft, but cold. ~~Aziraphale would have liked to hold it a bit longer.~~ Crowley’s grin widened.

“We'd be secret agents, sort of.” He said.

“Over-seeing the mission. We do it right, he won’t choose any of us. Not my band. Not your band. He’ll just be neutral. Maybe he won’t even want to do the contest after all.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Hope washed through him. Maybe all wasn't for nothing after all.

“I’d might work! Secret agents.”

He sounded delighted.

“Well, I'll be damned.”

Crowley chuckled fondly and gave Aziraphale a small wink.

“It’s not that bad when you get used to it.”

************

**Five month later:**

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale turned.

“Oh hello, Master Adam! I didn’t hear you coming.”

Aziraphale was standing in the middle of the garden of the Tadfield music residence. A few people from his church were with him. They were mowing the lawn, cutting the hedges and caring for the flowers.

Adams grinned. He seemed very relaxed.

“Well, I became quite accustomed to the territory.” He joked. 

Aziraphale smiled.

“You must be all off…”

“Five.”

“Five?”

“ I’ve been here for five month. And I’m loving it so far.”

He pointed at Aziraphale’s friends.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Brother Markus. And Brother Tom. Oh, and Sister Sarah. Now, you remember, Master Adam, as you may stay here for a bit longer, that the people of the local church community are always here to help you.”

Adam laughed. Aziraphale searched for any clue whether he did believe in Aziraphale’s words. It had been five month after all. There had to be some progress. Or was their little plan really working out? He felt hopefull.

“My cleaning man, Crowley, says the people of the local community are bastards and are only meant to be ground under my heels, Brother Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously.

“Well don’t you listen to him. You listen to me. We are very lovely people, if I may say so myself, and you are welcome to join us at our services at any time.”

Adam smiled at him.

“So then you don’t agree with his strong opinions on the music contest as well?” He asked.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“No, not really.” He said.

“The music contest is one of the main reasons for the cleavage of the people of our beautiful town. It only spurs up conflict.”

Adam nodded understandingly so Aziraphale decided to take it a step further.

“I think it would be for the best, if the contest was not going to happen at all. Perhaps the judge could give them some impulses?”

He threw Adam a meaningful glance. This had to work. After all this time. Adam laughed.

“Well, I see you have equally strong opinions on the subject.” He said.

“So you write your own songs?” Adam asked.

Crowley nodded. They were standing in Adams flat, Crowley was holding Adam’s guitar. Actually, he was supposed to clean the bathroom, but he kind of got carried away in the middle of the process.

“Can you play one for me?” Adam asked.

“Of course, Adam.” Crowley grinned proudly.

“I’m calling this one ‘lullaby’.”

He wrapped the strap of the guitar around his back and started hitting the strings. Also he started singing in a very, very crooked pitch.

_“Go to sleep and dream of pain, doom and darkness, blood and brains. Sleep so sweet my darling boy. You will rule when earth’s destroyed.”_

Crowley bowed as he finished. Adam laughed in delight.

“That was amazing” He said.

Crowley swelled with pride. No one ever gave him compliments like that. He could get used to it.

“Well thank you, Adam. I like to think of myself as a natural musician. I guess all Emos are.” He said.

“The gardener, Aziraphale, says that all you Emos are liars and show-offs. And also that you are terrible at singing.”

Crowley handed the guitar back to Adam. He smiled. Of course Aziraphale would say something like that. He was so soft, he couldn’t even come up with proper insults.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a hippocrate. Listen to me.” He said.

**********

There are many places in Tadfield associated with the Christians and Emos. But when Crowley and Aziraphale report in an official capacity to their respective head offices, they choose the headquarters.

The headquarters of the Emos were no real headquarters per se. It was the flat of their local supervisor, everyone just called Beelzebub, or just Beez. It was in the shadiest part of town. If you’d take a room without windows with a single lightbulb in it, you’d have to smash the lightbulb to get even close to the amount of shady.

Crowley’s Bentley came to halt in front of a rundown hut. The windows were coated with dirt and some of them were taped off with newspaper, so you couldn’t see what the residents were doing inside. It smelled of piss and decay.

Inside was a small round of people. Aside from the resident themselves Crowley could also spot Hastur and Ligur. They were currently sharing a joint on the ground that was littered with empty pizza boxes and energy drink cans.

Crowley dropped on the sofa. The fabric had some stains that smelled distinctly of vomit.

Beez offered him the joint. They were quite small, but had a very imperious aura. Their teeth only were yellow stumps in their mouth. They had a very boozy breath.

Crowley declined, trying hard to keep his face from twitching in disgust. 

“Tell us about the judge, Adam.” Beez said.

They were a bit zoned out and not quite looking at Crowley. Maybe it was better this way. Lying would be easier. Crowley cleared his throat.

“He’s a chill dude.” He said.

“Chill?” Hastur asked, passing on the weed.

“But does he like you. Is he emo?”

Crowley nodded.

“Super emo.”

He tried to sound convincing. His hands were a bit too sweaty for his liking.

“Vandalized anything yet?” Ligur asked.

Crowley gulped.

“Uh…not yet, but there’s more to being an Emo than just vandalizing stuff, ey?”

He tried to sound cheerful. Did it sound pathetic? Ligur tilted his head. His pupils were nearly filling up his whole irises.

“I suppose. But it’s fun”

He giggled before drifting off into a kind of trance. Beelzebub turned back to Crowley.

“Have you encountered any problems from the…opposition?”

Oh boy, this was it. He could not screw this up. He had to protect ~~Aziraphale~~ himself from the anger of the Emos. Crowley chuckled in what he hoped sounded like malicious joy. He flashed them a smile.

“They don’t suspect a thing.”

For Aziraphale, well, he didn’t need to take on the long way to the outer districts. The headquarters of the Catholics were, as one might expect, in the churches community centre. Everything was very light and friendly, to welcome any stranger, who might be hesitant to seek their help.

But don’t let the appearances fool you. Christians had their own ways of manipulation and torture. Aziraphale knew this all so well. He stayed late after weekly choir lessons and nervously bounced on his feet, while waiting for Gabriel to finish his conversation and take notice of him. Gabriel was joined by the two chaplains Micheal and Uirel, as well as the very small organist Sandalphon.

“I am proud to say that on a very real level, Mr. Young is now being influenced towards the light. He seems really distracted, said something about a job interview. Maybe he won’t like to do the contest after all.” Aziraphale concluded his elaboration.

He smiled. The church staff clapped approvingly. Gabriel patted his shoulder.

“Very commendable, Aziraphale. Excellent work, as usual.”

He gave him a jovial smile. The others nodded in agreement.

Now there is one thing you need to know about the Christians. They were not averse music in general but more averse this _specific_ kind of music. They liked their weekly choir practices. They liked their gospel and organ music. But they didn’t like people thinking for themselves. They didn’t like people expressing their thoughts and feelings. And music was the rawest expression of feelings, ever to come to existence. So they didn’t like people of their community going around playing in stupid little bands, wasting their time, they should have spent on prayers or community work.

So the band contest had been a thorn in their flesh for quite some time now. It encouraged teenagers to pursue their dreams and present their music openly. They wanted it gone. But over the years they had to learn that it wasn’t that easy. The band contest was safely financed by big record labels, their little community had no change against.

So they tried a different approach. If they couldn’t abolish the music contest, they had to, at least, make sure that it was won by some responsible band. Not one of those crazy satanic emo bands.

Michael smiled coldly at Aziraphale. She was a woman in her early sixties. Everything about her seemed put on, from her excessive make up to her neatly cut and polished nails.

“Yes, but, Aziraphale, we will be most understanding when he still does go to the contest. After all, contests are to be won.” She said.

“Not avoided.” Uriel added.

She was a tall, black woman with really short hair. Gigantic earrings dangled from her ear lobes. Aziraphale found it most distracting.

“But…but I won’t fail. I mean, that would be bad, wouldn’t it?” He asked and chuckled anxiously.

He shouldn't feel this uncomfortable. This were his people, after all. ~~Why did he feel more comfortable arround Crowley than here.~~

Gabriel advanced and placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It felt a bit policing. He, too, gave him an insincere smile.

“Aziraphale, what you’re doing is praiseworthy, but obviously doomed to failure.”

He chuckled, as if Aziraphale’s behaviour was most amusing.

“Still, as we like to sing in service, “Climb every mountain””

He laughed. His hand slipped from Aziraphale’s shoulder and he collected his coat from a nearby bench, before leaving with a last smile.

Aziraphale was left, puzzled and confused. He felt alone. He felt misunderstood. But surely that was his own fault. Gabriel and the others were trying to help him, of course.

Sandalphon was the last one to leave the room. He hadn’t said anything their entire conversation. He turned to Aziraphale.

“Ford every stream” He said, chuckling, and left as well.

Aziraphale was only glad that they hadn’t tried to sing any dodecaphonism. He could survive some iterations of the sound of music. At least he thought so.

*********

“The Adam’s too normal.” Crowley said.

He had a seat in the tier behind Aziraphale. Aziraphale could feel his warm body pressing against his seat, as Crowley was leaning over to whispers in his ear. A shiver ran down his spine. Aziraphale should really have worn a warmer coat. After all it was cold outside ~~and not because Crowley was so close to him~~. The engine of the bus sprang back to life

“I mean everyone said he’s so arrogant and extra and a total prick, but he’s just… I mean…normal.”

He snorted.

“Excellent. It’s working.” Aziraphale whispered, without taking his eyes off the book in his hands.

“My influences are balancing yours. A no-score draw.”

He too was feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing, but he had to keep his faith. Otherwise he would probably break down into a ball of nerves.

Crowley looked around the room nervously, but no one was watching them. Was he scared to been seen talking to him in public? Or was he embarrassed?

“I hope you’re right. Only six moth left to go.”

Aziraphale hesitated. He finally put down his book.

“Crowley?”

Crowley seemed distracted.

“Yeah.” He said.

“I mean, if he really is going to be the judge for this contest, how do we stop it then?”

He fiddled with his bowtie that seemed a bit too tight for his liking.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Crowley assured him, but he didn’t look convinced either. 

********

**Monday, six more days till the contest**

“It’s long.” Francis said.

He brushed his fingers over his moustache. His college, Mark, nodded.

“It really is. Everything’s covered. Health insurance, food, bonus… everything. Lucky bastard, if you ask me. Only the best for our judge soon-to-be.”

Francis shrugged and placed the contract in the envelope.

“Do you think he’s satisfied?” He asked after a while.

Now it was Mark’s turn to shrug.

“I don’t know. People say he’s a real prick. Selling himself for twice his price.”

He laughed.

“I guess, there is only one way to find out.”

He called over an intern, who was just passing by their office, headed for the canteen to refill the coffee can.

“You! Get in there!”

“Me?” The intern said, nervous.

“Yes, yes, you.” Mark said.

“Bring this to Mr. Adam Warlock Young over in Tadfield, would you?”

The intern took the envelope with shaking hands and stilted out of the office.

“And watch out for his teeth!”

Mark called after him, laughing. Francis wiped away a tear of laughter as well.

“It’s not like you didn’t tell him to look out for the teeth.”

He chuckled.

**********

“Adam, are you listening to me, honey?” Harriet Dowling asked.

They were walking through St. James’ Park, Adam hands in his pockets. He seemed a bit distracted.

“Look, we wanted to invite a few people and...”

“Yeah, sure.” Adam said, looking to the ground.

“It would be very small.”

“It’s not small. It’s so much work for you.” Adam objected.

Harriet halted and smiled at him.

“It’s no work, sweaty. It’s a small party. It’s what I do. I organize things. I’m an organizer.”

“A feast, more like.” Adam mumbled.

“Why can’t we just have a dinner with the three of us?” He asked.

Harriet put her hand on his shoulder.

“Honey, for the last time, we’ve already hired a…”

“But, please, Harriett…”

Crowley and Aziraphale were watching the scene from a safe distance. They sat on their favourite bench, enjoying the last rays of the afternoon sunlight.

Crowley’s hair was much shorter now. He wore it in some kind of fauxhawk. The setting sun made it seem like his head was on fire.

“Well, we’ve done everything we can.” He said, shifting uncomfortably.

“All we can do now is waiting for Wednesday. The contract will be the key. Should be delivered to him on Wednesday.”

Aziraphale shot another glance at Adam, who was laughing at something Harriett had said.

“Right. You’ve never actually mentioned a contract before.” He pointed out.

Crowley snorted.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, they’re sending him a contract to verify his work for the contest.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale said.

“Big deal, they say. Will seal his job as a judge.”

Crowley leaned over to get a better look at Adam. Aziraphale frowned.

“Isn’t it a bit late for him to sign a contract? I mean he’s already been here 11 months. The contest will start in a few days!”

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“That’s the way the record labels like to do it. It’s a formality, angel.”

Crowley had started calling Aziraphale this, after Maria, the piano player of Aziraphale’s band “The Angles”, had once called him ‘archangel’. Crowley found it rather hilarious. At first Aziraphale would protest, but then it just got too much effort and Crowley would do it anyway, so the name stuck. ~~Also maybe it just felt a bit good. It felt like he was important to Crowley.~~

Crowley pointed at Adam.

“And young Adam, over there, can do what he likes with that, whether he needs it or not. He can still back out. It’s the start of it all. The boy’s meant to sign it.”

A funny thought occurred to him.

“Imagine him singing it with his alias, whatever that may be.” He laughed.

“Stalks by Night, Throat-Ripper, something like that.”

Aziraphale gave him a small smile, but he seemed more concerned with something else. Crowley sighed. He didn't like it when Aziraphale was like this. He just wanted to see that smile on his lips again.

“But if you and I have done our job properly then he’ll send it away unsinged.” He reassured him.

Aziraphale seemed a bit more relaxed, but then he frowned again.

“But, what if he does sign it?” He broached the subject again.

Crowley groaned in frustration. Maybe he was playing it down a bit. And maybe it was because he didn't have a clue. He didn't know what to do. ~~It frightened him.~~

“Then you and I have lost, he’ll have all his ominous _judging powers_ , and Armageddon will be days away.”

Aziraphale felt desperation creeping up to him.

“There must be some way of stopping it.” He insisted.

Crowley shrugged.

“If there was no judge…then the process would stop. It’s way too late for them to get a proper replacement.” He said.

“Yes, but there _is_ a judge. He’s right over there, taking out his hostess on a walk, like all sensible guests should do.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Well, there is a judge now. That could change.” He suggested.

Aziraphale looked at him, confused.

“Something could happen to him…” Crowley proceeded.

Still, Aziraphale looked at him in bewilderment. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“My god, are you slow of mind? I’m saying you could break his leg or something.”

Aziraphale gasped. He stared at Crowley in shock. He couldn't be serious, right? Crowley would never suggest that... He internally slapped himself. Of course he would. He was an emo. He must not forget that.

“I’ve never actually…done anything to harm anyone. I don’t think I could.”

He seemed upset. Still, Crowley could see he was considering his words in some form. So he hoped.

“Not even to save everything? One tiny little overstep against our future.” He argued.

Aziraphale threw him a harried look. He deliberately ignored his comment.

They stared blankly at the park for a few seconds.

The wheels in Aziraphale’s head were turning. He felt a bit sick.

“Then, this contract, it’ll show up on Wednesday?” He changed the topic.

Crowley nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Well, then we should be there. Maybe I could stop the delivery. In fact”

His face lit up.

“I could entertain.”

Crowley grimaced. 

“No, no, no. Please, no. No.”

He said, already pissed off. ~~But really he wanted to smile. Aziraphale looked so much better when he was excited.~~

Aziraphale’s bad mood on the other hand had disappeared. He pulled a coin from his pockets, grinning widely.

“I just need to get back into practice.” He said.

“Oh, no, no. Don’t do your magic act. Please, Please! I’m actually begging you.” Crowley said, shaking his head violently.

Aziraphale tried to make the coin appear from thin air. Instead it fell to the ground. Crowley sighed. ~~Why did he have to be so adorable.~~

“You have no idea how demeaning that is. Please.”

But Aziraphale didn’t listen to him. He had already sprung to his feet and picked the coin back up. He was now trying to pull it from behind Crowley’s ear. Crowley tried to shoo him away.

“In your finger.” He said annoyed. But his heart was squeezing with joy.

“No, it was in your ear.” Aziraphale insisted and proudly presented Crowley the coin.

Crowley groaned.

“I can’t believe we are having this conversation. It was in your pocket.”

“It was…close to your ear.” Aziraphale suggested.

“Never anywhere near my ear.”

Crowley couldn’t help for a small smile to creep on his face. Damn the angel. He just couldn't help it. He hoped they would never stop arguing like that.

Aziraphale sat back down, still grinning.

“You are no fun.” He teased. 

“Fun?” Crowley asked, almost sounding offended.

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded.

“It’s humiliating. You could do a proper performance. You could, I don’t know, sing.”

“But it’s not as fun.”

He smiled sheepishly and looked down to fold his hands in his lap.

Crowley blushed and quickly stood up, while Aziraphale stayed on the bench.

“You know what a real trick would be?” He asked.

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Make you disappear.” 

*********

**Wednesday, four more days till the contest**

The day the contract was to be delivered to Adam Warlock Young also happened to be the day of Adam Young’s birthday. Despite his objection Harriet had put together a large garden party for him. Adam didn’t know half of the people that were there.

Of course, Aziraphale and Crowley attended the party as well, separate to raise no suspicion.

Aziraphale was currently presenting his very mediocre magic tricks.

“Where has he got to? Is he in here…somewhere?”

He showed a stack of cards to the mildly annoyed spectators, only to pull out the wrong card.

“There he is! Ha!”

He beamed at the people and passed on to his next trick.

“This trick…”

The cards slipped from his hands and glided downwards to the ground. He chuckled nervously.

“We’ll come back to that one.”

He quickly caught himself again. Instead he placed a top hat on a specially prepared table. It was covered with a magic looking tablecloth.

“You see, it’s me old top hat.” Aziraphale explained.

“But, wait.”

He pulled out a wand and lightly tapped the hat. He widened his eyes in mock surprise.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Could it be our old furry friend…”

He made a dramatic pause and pulled out an old rabbit that seemed as disturbed by his performance as anyone else.

“Harry the rabbit?”

He mimicked a silent wow and presented the poor rabbit to the spectators. There were some unmotivated claps.

“It was in the table.” Someone called from the back.

A man leaned over to Harriet Dowling.

“You said there was gonna be a real magician.”

It was only a whisper, but it was still distinctly audible. The crowed began to mutter.

Crowley was standing in the back. He tried not to die from vicarious embarrassment. ~~Did Aziraphale have to look so cute?~~ He looked at his clock. It was already very late.

A small girl spoke up.

“I had Penn and Teller at my party, and I had a silent disco, and I got a…”

She was interrupted by Adam who was now standing in front of everyone. He was smiling.

“The buffet is now open.”

The uncomfortable situation was resolved by everyone leaving the scene to run over to the buffet. Everyone was very keen to get their hands on Mrs. Dowling’s famous canapes.

Crowley had a real bad feeling. Adam saving Aziraphale from his humiliation just reminded him of the fact that he was not very…well, arsehole-ly. He really hoped that damn contract would soon be delivered and everything would turn out to be paranoia on his side.

A small boy walked over to Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled at him and bent down to hand him a flower he had “magically” conjured earlier. The boy did not take it.

“She’s right, you know. You are actually rubbish.” He said and left. 

Crowley didn’t stay to watch Aziraphale’s humiliation. ~~He wanted to really, but his cheeks were glowing red.~~ He was again looking at his clock.

“Five, four, three, two, one.” He counted quietly.

The numbers on his watch turned. It was midnight. The day way over.

Crowley looked around. He found Adam chatting near the buffet. Nobody was approaching him. Nobody was in sight.

Something was wrong, very wrong indeed.

“It was all a bit of a disaster, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale said.

He had a glass in hand, hoping to forget his disastrous performance with a bit of alcohol.

“Nonsense.” Crowley said.

He was still looking around nervously. And that wasn't because of the adorable blush on Aziraphale's cheeks from all the champagne he had been drinking.

“You gave them all a party to remember. By your standards, I mean, mind.”

He took another slug of the beer in his hands.

“They’re late.” Aziraphale said.

“Not everyone can have a thing for magic. I-”

“No. The delivery. The contract. It’s late.” Aziraphale clarified.

Crowley had to agree with Aziraphale. It made him very anxious, and all the waiting wasn’t really helping.

He took his phone from his pocket and dialled a familiar number. It rang a few times, then someone picked up.

“Hello”

Crowley didn’t recognise the voice. He thought he might have misdialled.

“Uh, hi. Who’s this?” He asked.

“Oh, hi. It’s Dagon. I’m crashing at Satan’s” The voice introduced itself.

“Uh yeah hi, just checking in about that contract.” Crowley said.

He looked over to Adam again. He was playing beer pong with a couple of people.

“The delivery should be with you by now. Why? Has something gone wrong?” Dagon asked.

Crowley quickly retracted.

“Wrong? No, no. Nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong?”

He forced a laugh. Fuck.

“Oh, no, I see the car now, yes. What a lovely, big deliverily deliver. Yes, okay, great talking to you.”

He terminated the call, sweating.

There was silence between them. Everyone was trying to process the events and their consequences for themselves.

“No contract.” Aziraphale finally said.

“No contract.” Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale hesitated. His stomach was twisting unpleasantly at the very thought of it.

“Wrong Adam.” He said.

“Wrong Adam.” Crowley agreed.

They looked up to see the horror in each other’s eyes.

*********

The right Adam was playing Dungeons and Dragons with his friends in the great vastness that people liked to call the internet. After all, it was one of his last free days. The internet was their sacred place, where they could play unbothered by any outsiders and didn’t even need to leave the house.

The friends were in a very famous band and called themselves the “Them”. Pepper and Brain, Wensleydale, and the singer and lead guitarist, their leader, who founded their band and wrote the best songs of all…Adam.

Outside the doors of Mr. and Mrs. Young’s cottage a car had come to a stop. Adam didn’t notice this. He was currently thinking about the very thing, being delivered to him.

“It’s me we’re talking about. Of course, I’m gonna get a backstage area.” He said, frowning.

Pepper spoke up. Her voice seemed flat through the microphone.

“You never get what you want. I wanted a cake, and I asked for it. And I told them I wanted black icing, and 12 cherries on top and everything. And you know what they got me? A girl’s cake. With pink icing and rose leafs.”

Wensleydale thought about this.

“But you are actually a girl, Pepper.” He said.

Pepper rolled her eyes.

“That’s just sexist.” She said.

Adam hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation.

“I want a backstage area.” He said again.

Pepper rolled her dice, managing to do it with as much annoyance as possible.

“Oh, right. And your fancy hosts over there are just going to get you a big old ballroom just for yourself, then, Adam?”

Adam though about that.

Outside the intern that had been sent to bring the contract to him was ready to knock on the door. He stopped dead in his tracks as Adam continued his explanation.

“I don’t want a big room. That’s not the important bit. I want the kind of contract you can tell everyone else about, you know, brag about how much money you are getting.”

The intern looked at the contract in his hands. He thought of very sharp teeth.

“I want a contract that sounds brilliantly important, and will make everyone notice how cool I am.”

Pepper rolled her eyes again. She was very good at that.

“Why don’t you just sign it as Adam-king-of-the-whole-fucking-world Young?” She joked.

Brian and Wesleydale laughed. Adam was still thinking about his opportunities.

“It’s not that much to ask.” He said

“It’s only fair, I think. I mean it is me we’re talking about. And, and I think I’ll sign it as…”

The intern outside the door could not take the tension any longer. He opened the door without knocking. Adam turned, ready to scream at him for entering his room without permission, but the intern just handed him the contract and ran away in panic.

Adam took out the papers and read the lines.

“And? Is it good?” Wesleydale asked.

Adam nodded, a grin on his face. As he said, he was Adam Warlock Young. People had to do what he told them to. He took the pen from the penholder.

And this is the moment. The signing. This will give it its purpose, its function, its binding nature. This is the moment that sets Armageddon into motion.

The Them held their breaths.

“I think I’ll just sign it ‘Adam’. Saves a lot of trouble, doesn’t it?” Adam says and puts down his name.

*********

“Armageddon is days away, and we’ve lost the fucking judge. Why did my people have to drag me into this anyway?” Crowley whined.

It had only been half an hours since their momentous realisation, but he was already completely drunk. Maybe he should really work on his coping mechanisms. It was a miracle really that Aziraphale still stuck around.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Well, don’t quote me on this but I’m pretty sure it’s because of all this memos you kept sending them. Saying how amazingly well you were doing.”

Crowley groaned. He let his head flop down on the table.

“Is it my fault they never check-up? I’m to blame they never check-up?” He slurred.

“Everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office. You know that.”

Aziraphale gave him a worried look. He felt rather hopeless himself, but he couldn't just leave Crowley in the state he was currently in.

“Yes, but you told them you invented beer pong and started that fight on the harvest festival last year.”

Crowley wallowed in his misery.

“ _They_ did not know beer pong is actually a very old and noble sport. That’s not my fault. Maybe they should have come to school more often.”

He paused. He had recognized Harriet Dowling, who was standing only a few feet away from them. She was on her phone and looked very alarmed.

Crowley sat up fitfully.

She talked insistently to someone on the other end of the line.

“Something’s changed.” He said.

He suddenly felt really sober again. His heart was beating very fast.

Aziraphale was wrenched out of his train of thought.

“Oh, you mean the smell? It’s a new cologne. My barber suggested it.” He said.

Crowley grimaced.

“Not you. I know what you fucking smell like. All that incense.”

He shook his head in disgust. ~~Really he loved it. It smelled so much like Aziraphale.~~

He looked back over at Harriet, while Aziraphale was blushing furiously. She was pacing up and down the grass and nodding. Crowley could pick up some fragments of the conversation. It wasn’t much but he understood the words ‘contract’ and ‘signed’.

Crowley gulped. His heart sank into his boots.

“The contract was signed.” He said, his voice failing him for a second.

He had gone even paler than usual.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded in shock.

“I heard it. Would I lie to you?”

He looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale tried to avoid his eyes.

“Well, obviously. You’re an Emo. That’s what you do.”

Crowley hissed. It hurt. No matter how hard he thought his armour had gotten. Aziraphale just found a way to stab right through it.

“No, we do not lie. I might be a prick and an arsehole, but I am not liar.”

He calmed down a bit.

“The truth is more hurtful most of the times anyway.”

Aziraphale didn’t look convinced. And maybe Crowley deserved it. Crowley continued, trying not to sound sulky.

“Adam, wherever he is, has the contract. He’s signed it. It’s done. He’s coming into his power. We’re doomed.”

Crowley took another much bigger slug of his drink. Maybe he should get totally wasted. It was better than accepting the harsh reality.

Aziraphale needed some time to process this. He pursed his lips. He seemed more reserved than Crowley had expected.

Finally he gave Crowley a sad smile and cleared his throat.

“Well, then…welcome to the end times.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is the first chapter. Thanks for making it through. 
> 
> There will be five more, one for each episode. It’s could take me a while to post the next chapter, since this actually is much more work than I anticipated.
> 
> I would like to thank [Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake) for listening to my stupid ideas and being the first one to actually read this. Go check out their Good Omens fic. It’s really good.
> 
> If you would like to see me wasting away my time, instead of actually working on this fic, feel free to follow me on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/walkingcontradiction42) . 
> 
> As always, Kudos and comments are appreciated. :)


	2. The Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild substance abuse

**Thursday, two days till the band contest**

It was a nice day. The sun was shining through the dusty windows of the bookshop. Aziraphale was watching after the costumers for the afternoon. His parents had covered the morning shift. He had just been talking to a very nice elder lady, whom he had provided with a rare copy of _The secret garden_.

He turned around to see Gabriel and Sandalphon enter the bookshop. They glanced around, obviously looking for something, or rather someone. Aziraphale approached them.

“Can I help you?” he asked, smiling reluctantly.

Gabriel turned around to flash him one of his large smiles that was supposed to be fatherly, but only gave Aziraphale the creeps.

“I would like to purchase a book.” He said. 

“Book.” Sandalphon agreed.

Aziraphale smiled awkwardly.

“Do you have anything more specific in mind?” He asked.

Gabriel folded his hands in front of his chest.

“Let us discuss my purchase in a private place, because I am buying, uh...”

“The bible?” Sandalphon suggested.

“The bible, yes, and not discussing any sensitive topics.” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale tried to stay as preserved as possible. Some of the costumers were already giving them funny looks.

“Gabriel, come into the back room.” He said motioning for the back of the shop.

“We normal non-Christian costumers are very particular about our bibles. We must buy our bibles secretively.” Gabriel shouted, while they followed him away from the customer area.

Sandalphon was snickering.

As soon as the door of the back room closed behind them, they started laughing unreservedly.

“Customers are so simple...and so easily fooled.” Gabriel cackled.

Aziraphale, a bit uncertain about their behaviour, gave it a small laugh as well.

“Yes. Ahem, good job. You-- You fooled them all.” He assured them.

Gabriel straightened himself again.

“You remember Sandalphon?” He asked.

Aziraphale looked at the other man nervously. Sandalphon gave him a nasty smile. 

“Uh... the organist. You were doing a lot of shouting at people, who dared play something other than church music on your instrument.”

He gulped.

“Hard to forget.”

But Gabriel wasn’t listening. He seemed distracted. He had raised his nose and sniffed.

“Something smells...evil. Like greasy take away food and alcohol.”

Aziraphale began sweating. They could not know that he had been meeting with Crowley in secret. He chuckled tensely.

“Oh, that'll be the penny dreadful section, I'm afraid.” He joked.

To his relief Gabriel laughed as well and left it at this. Instead he turned to another topic, Aziraphale would rather not talk about.

“Well, we just wanted to stop by and check on the status of the judge.”

Aziraphale started fumbling with his jacket. He could feel Sandalphon’s eyes on him and tried to restrain himself.

“Why? What's wrong? I-- I mean, if there is something wrong, I could put my people onto it.” He deflected.

Gabriel smiled.

“Oh, Nothing's wrong. Everything's going perfectly on our end. There's a lot happening. All good.”

Aziraphale was certain they would be able to see the sweat beats on his forehead. 

“All good?” He asked, his voice more strident than indented.

“Well, all going according to plan. The contract is signed, and now the Four Horsemen of the record labels are being summoned. Death, Addiction, Insecurity, Desire.”

Of course that wasn’t what they were really called. But everyone called them that. They were the big names in the music industry. They were the heads of the four most important company’s. And they liked to oversee the Tadfield band contest to get a good look at the new, fresh flesh.

“Right. Who exactly summons them?” Aziraphale asked.

Gabriel shrugged.

“I think they summon themselves. I believe they outsource that sort of thing.”

Sandalphon nodded affirmatively.

“About time, that's what I say.” He said.

“You can't have a contest without a certain desire to win.”

Gabriel’s face lit up.

“Sandalphon, that is very good. _You can't have a band contest without desire to win?_ I might use that in my next Sermon. Huh.”

He turned back to Aziraphale.

“Anyway...no problems? How was the handing over? Did he make a scene? I bet he did.” He laughed.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“I-- I didn't stick around to see.” He confessed throwing Sandalphon another uncertain glance.

He seemed unconvinced. Was he suspecting anything? Gabriel on the other hand just smiled.

“Maybe it’s for the best. Likely he would have said some very unholy words.”

He made the sign of the cross. Aziraphale quickly followed their example.

“Thank you for my bible!” Gabriel shouted back into the shop.

He snickered again.

“Excellent job. _You can't have a contest without a desire to win_. Clever.”

He patted Sandalphon on the shoulder. Aziraphale accompanied them to the door.

“I will hear from you.” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale nodded, trying to hide the ball of nerves that had started growing in his chest.

*************

Crowley sighed. He looked at the phone in his hand again. His finger had been hovering over Aziraphale’s number for a few minutes now. But he couldn’t do it. He sighed again and threw his phone beside him. He was such a coward, could not even find the courage to dial a fucking number.

Instead he turned on the TV. The constant chatter in the back made him relax a bit. He was faced with a superficial bright talk show. The hostess had a creepy slimy smile plastered on her face and was talking something about fridges.

He was lying on the sofa of his shitty apartment. For once he had taken down his sunglasses. He liked to wear them if he was around people, because he thought it looked cooler. At least that was what he told himself and anyone who asked. Really, he also wore them, because it was harder to tell what he was thinking.

His heard skipped a beat as his chosen object of hate, began to ring. Maybe this would be Aziraphale, calling to ~~check on him~~ , check in on any news.

But instead Hastur’s names loomed on the display. Reluctantly Crowley accepted the call. He could not raise any suspicions.

“Morning, Crowley.” Hastur sneered.

Another person called from the back. Crowley recognised Ligur’s voice.

“Just checking in.”

“Hey, guys.”

Crowley tried to stay as cool as possible. But his throat felt a bit dry and his hands were a bit sweaty. He was glad they weren’t able to see him.

“It's about the judge.” Ligur said.

“Yeah. Great guy. Real talented.” Crowley said.

“We have arranged for his host family to be taken to the Killstrike concert.” Hastur said.

Killstrike was a famous emo band in the region. Their concerts were legendary, mostly because of the huge consumption of alcohol.

“There, he can learn the great things our community has to offer. Maybe get a bit drunk, if he wants to.”Ligur explained.

“The Four Horsemen will join the contest in the evening.” Hastur added.

“Yay.” Crowley cheered.

It didn’t even sound convincing to him.

“Armageddon will begin. The final concert. It's what we've been working for all these years.” Hastur made a considerable pause.

Crowley could almost feel his disgust wavering through the telephone.

“We are outcasts to them. Never forget that.” He said.

Crowley sighed.

“Well, it's not the sort of thing you forget.” He said.

Hastur didn’t react to Crowley’s statement.

“I don't trust you, Crowley.” He said, his voice radiating coldness.

Crowley shivered. 

“Everything's going just fine.” He assured, but the connection had already been cut.

He stayed like this for a few more seconds trying to steady his racing heart. He let his head fall back onto the backrest of the sofa and looked up to the dirty ceiling.

“I didn't mean to be an outcast.” He whispered. 

“People just like to assume things about you, if you fit a certain pattern.”

***************

Somebody had to notify the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. But they outsource that sort of thing these days. Meet the delivery man. He had four invitations to deliver in his van. He worked for the Tadfield band contest Association. And he was about to make his first delivery in the first of the four big labels.

Sometimes, despite everything, a small band is discovered and gets to sign a fancy contract. People get tired of fighting over salaries, and contract duration, and obligations, and are willing to start the rest of their lives.  
  


“Excuse me, who are you?” The singer with the sunny boy hairstyle and tanned arms asked.

She smiled.

“Carmine Zingiber. I’m the head of this record label” She watched in amusement as his eyes grew wide.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I mean.” He stuttered.

Carmine chuckled. She always quite liked the effect she had on people. They feared her. She could smell their fright. The friend of the sunny boy, who looked exactly like him, spoke up.

“Well, this is good, my friends. It is good that Mrs. Zingiber herself is here to see us sign our contract.”

Carmine stilted over to them. Her high heels clattered on the ground cheerfully. They were as excited as she was about the disaster that was about to happen. In just one motion she tossed over the individual papers.

“Right, well, if you'd like to sign this first”

She pointed at the singer.

“And then the rest of you. Then we'll get a photograph of all of you together, to retain this memorable moment. ”

Most of them nodded, but Sunny boy 2 hesitated.

“Wait. He signs first?” He asked.

Carmine chuckled. This was turning out just the way she wanted it to.

“It is just a formality, who signs first.” She said anyway.

Sunny boy 2 frowned. He took a closer look at the paper. Carmine could feel his anger growing. He clenched his fists. _Oh that smell._

“A formality? You pay him twice the salary we get, and you call that a formality?”

He jumped to his feet. His face was red with anger.

“He gets twice the money we get?” One of the others asked, irritated.

You could almost feel the tension in the air.

“He is the singer. He is the face of your little group. You can’t have the band without him. Somebody has to be leader. Someone has to sign first” She said, twisting her mouth into a gleeful grin.

Sunny boy 2 took another step in her direction.

“They do, and it's me.” He said, confidently.

Oh, how she loved the big boys, who wanted to show their superiority. It was rather adorable.

“If that is what you desire.” She cured.

She was enjoying herself very much. She wanted to give him a final push in the right direction, but was interrupted when the door opened.

A tall, thin bloke entered the room. He had mousy brown hair, which was already beginning to fade on top. He wore a cap, sandals and was carrying an envelope. He tried to manoeuvre around the sunny boys, who had been at each other’s throats, but where currently watching him in confusion.

“Oh, don't mind me, ladies and gents. Oh, what a day, eh?” He asked, giving them all a bright smile.

He seemed to be oblivious about the situation he had just walked into.

“Nearly didn't find the place. It’s quite the tall building, eh?”

Finally his eyes rested on Carmine. He walked over to her.

“Invitation for you, miss.” He handed her the envelope.

Carmine took it, the smile on her face growing even wider.

“You, uh...you have to sign for it.”

He pulled a pen from his pocket. He took in his surroundings, whilst Carmine was scribbling her name on his clipboard.

“Well, it's a lovely place you got here.”

He looked at the marble floor and the designer chairs.

“So fancy.”

Nobody answered though, because they were busy processing the situation and keeping from murdering each other. Carmine handed him back the clipboard. He smiled and touched the brim of his cap for a final goodbye.

Carmine couldn’t hold back her anticipation until he had left the room. She tore the envelope to pieces, as he was still making his way back through the war field, and the invitation tumbled to the floor. Her eyes scurried over the lines hungrily. She sighed.

“Finally.”

She looked up to find the sunny boys staring at her again. She smiled. This really had been a very good day for her.

“Sorry, folks. I'd love to stay and get to know you all better...but duty calls. Places to be.”  
  
She's the first of four. And you can't have a contest without her. At least not a very interesting one. It’s the desire to win that pushes people over the edge and lets them turn to the most drastic manners. She's been killing time for so long now. Time, and sometimes friendships. And now, months of waiting are about to end.

*************

This is also the story of a visionary, a police officer, and a book. And that story starts about 50 years ago, with the execution of a search warrant.

“Chief Major Pulsifer, all is prepared.” The young officer said, saluting.

Major Pulsifer nodded.

“Where is the reinforcement?” He asked.

“Back in her potager. She suspects nothing.”

Major Pulsifer smiled to himself. This was the day justice would finally be served.

“I thought you'd tested her on intoxicants.” He said, dragging on his cigarette.

The officer seemed nervous. He fiddled with his hat, which he had jammed under his arm.

“We did. Regulation-issue breath-gas-analysis. Let her puff into it for hours.”

Major Pulsifer kicked out his cigarette. He examined the small cottage in front of him. Everything seemed quite. The sun hadn’t yet risen. Some chickens were strolling around.

“And what was the result?” He asked.

The officer mumbled something under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked again.

The officer cleared his throat, glancing around nervously.

“She said it cured her asthma.” He said with a bit more emphasis this time.

Major Pulsifer began pacing on the grass, which was still wet from the morning frost.

“Hmm.” He grunted thoughtfully.

Finally he turned back to the jumpy officer.

“Of what else is she accused?”

“Illegal growing and consumption of Hemp, mostly.” He said.

Then he looked down apparently embarrassed of what he was about to say.

“And predicting the future.” It was merely a whisper.

Major Pulsifer pricked up his ears.

“She did what?” He asked incredulous.

The officer seemed ashamed to even scratch the topic. He avoided the Major’s eyes at all cost. His legs were shaking.

“She told Mistress Bulcock that there would be a lot of copper tomorrow.”

The Major snorted.

“Such nonsense.” He shrugged it off, but the officer wasn’t finished yet.

“But that's us, isn't it?”

Major Pulsifer rolled his eyes.

“It's not us. We are police officers. You may call us policeman or constable, but you may not degrade us with words like copper or bobby or…plod.”

This seemed to be a very sensitive topic for him. The officer started to fiddle with his hands again. A sharp look from the major terminated his movements. He clenched them to fists, holding them close to his body.

“So they don't call us copper?” He asked anxiously.

Major Pulsifer sighed.

“They do.” He admitted.

There while the target of their operation, young hippie and visionary Agnes Nutter was standing in her kitchen. Of course she was already aware about the intrusion that was about to happen. She was standing at her kitchen counter, looking into the distance thoughtfully and writing a note.  
  


_Good postman,_

_bring no more post, not this day or ever, for today I am to be arrested._

_Yours, Agnes Nutter._

She toughed a little while longer then a smile crept on her face. She added another line.

_P.S. My best wishes to your wife._

Then she folded the note and put it on the counter.

Outside everyone was preparing to storm the building. Major Pulsifer gave the instructions so everyone was on their assigned positions. Whispered commands and heavy steps on wet grass were audible.

Agnes looked at her watch.

“They're late.” She said.

“She lives alone, I have heard tell, with no man monitoring her.” The officer said.

Another office edged closer to them, peaked by their conversation. The present officers were all quite good on the whole gossip and superstition bit. They would get along pretty well with the station mistresses.

He nodded furiously.

“Aye. She says woman should have equal rights and should be allowed to do everything men are allowed to do.”

Major Pulsifer shook his head.

“Monstrous.” He agreed with them.

“Perhaps it’s all the weed she has been smoking.” The first one guessed.

“Dissolving her brain and giving her such strange ideas.”

“No, she says it's a human right. She said we should be more considerable about their needs. I told her, I said, it's hard enough being tolerable of people from other countries now we should be tolerable of women, who walk around in all that unlady like fashion?” The second one agitated.

“Aye, she is obviously mad. Good thing she is going to prison then.” Major Pullsifer concluded their conversation.

The other two nodded in agreement. They proceeded to advance the building. But before they could do anything the door swung open.

“Major Pulsifer...good officers, you are late. I should have been arrested 10 minutes since.” She complained.

“Mistress Nutter?” Major Pulsifer guessed, a bit confused.

He thought their sneaking up had gone unnoticed.

“Right.” Agnes said.

She chuckled at all the baffled expressions on the policemen’s’ faces. She hurried past them towards the vans. It took Major Pulsifer a second to catch up with what was happening.

“Hey! Hey! Oi! This is most irregular, Mistress Nutter.” He said, trying to grip her wrist.

But Agnes didn’t listen. She just kept walking, until she reached the cars.

Without any assistance from the officers, she opened the door and sat down on one of the benches.

“Gather thee right close, good coppers.” She said, smiling contented.

The officers threw each other nervous glanced but took a step forward. Never before had a prisoner arrested themselves.

Agnes continued.

“Come close until my perfume tickles ye noses, for I charge ye that all must see how the last true visionary in England is arrested.”

The doors of the van were closed, but still she kept talking. Major Pulsifer could her voice through the glass. Somehow this made him very uneasy. All of this had gone to well for his liking. And this Mistress Nutter was a very odd person, indeed.

“And let this be a message to the world. And mark well the fate of those who meddle with such as they do not understand.” Agnes said.

Too late, Major Pulsifer recognised the fateful grin spreading on her face. A familiar smell touched the mucosal of his nose.

“Oh, bugger.” He said, before he started to see pink bunnies dancing around his lateral vision.  
  


Among the folk from the village, there was much subsequent debate as to whether this disaster had been bound to happen by some weird kind of fate. However, a note found in Agnes' cottage suggested that any fate had been materially helped by Agnes' hemp farm, in which she had ignited 50 pounds of weed and 30 pounds of hashish oil. The distraction, caused by the intoxicating fumes, gave her the opportunity of flight and she was never to be seen again.

Some suspect she might be living in the woods, leading a good life and talking to the indigenous animals. We shall leave this mystery for another day.

Agnes also left behind a box and a book. They were to be given to her daughter and her son-in-law, John and Virtue Device. The two of them were standing in her kitchen, reading a letter appended to these things.  
  


_Dear Mistress Nutter,_

_we take great pleasure in enclosing your author's copy of your lyrics book. We trust it will sell in huge numbers, yea, and be reprinted even unto a second printing.  
  
_

_Yours, Bilton and Scaggs, publishers._

  
John and Virtue exchanged an incredulous look. Vitue grabbed the thick book, wrapped in fine leather, and read the title imprinted in the fabric.

“ _The collection of Nice and Accurate lyrics of Agnes Nutter”_ She mumbled.

She turned to her husband.

“What does this mean, John?” She asked.

John smiled.

“It means, Virtue, that even though Agnes is gone, we must study her lyrics. For your mother knew the future.”

He took the book from her hands and opened it at a random page.

“Lyric 2,214.” He muttered to himself.

Virtue peeked over his shoulder to get a better look at the neat writing.

_“In 2001, a romance will arise that is not organic._

_Do not invest thy money in their last gathering, for they are to return the most satanic.”_

He frowned. Virtue grabbed the book back from him and flipped through the pages herself. She laughed in disbelieve before putting it back down.

“Oh, I mean, this is balderdash.” She flustered.

This was a time, were people weren’t yet able to look up their favourites lyrics on the internet, so books that contained these lyrics enjoyed quite the prominence.

The book Agnes left behind was the sole lyrical work in all of human history to never correspond with any musical work, and consist entirely of completely correct predictions concerning the following 50-odd years. People often like to refer to song lyrics as “deep” or “relatable”. Agnes’ lyrics were the culmination of this trend, being a precise and accurate description of the events that would culminate in so called Armageddon. They were on the money in every single detail.

Nobody knew exactly why that was. Some suggested it was because of the huge amounts of weed Agnes liked to consume herself, that her mind had been open to the vast ideas of this peculiar future.

***********

On the night the judge arrived in Tadfield, in a house in Malibu, Virtue’s daughter, Agnes Nutter's granddaughter, was staring angrily at the title page. And, metaphorically, the book had just begun to tick.  
  
“Okay, Anathema. Lyric 2,214.” Anathema rolled her eyes.

She had enough of this. She wasn’t a child anymore. She would not let her life be controlled by some old hippie lyrics, written by an old hag that had smoked far too many joints for her liking.

“ _In 2001, a romance will arise that is not organic_.” She recited anyway.

She sighed.

“That one's stupid, Mom. It doesn't mean anything.”

Her mother gave her a patient and knowing smile.

“You ever heard of the band My chemical romance? They formed in 2001.” She explained.

Anathema dumped her head on the table and groaned in frustration.

“Okay, 2,213.” Her mother prompted.

_“Four shall ride,_

_and two shall ride the wasp with the one that cried,_

_and one shall ride in flames,_

_and there shall be no stopping their aims._

_Not beer, nor snow,_

_neither Christian or Emo._

_And ye shall be there also,_

_Anathema, very pronto.”_

She quoted by heart. They had been over this almost every day since she had been able to talk. Her mother grinned.

“You see? She's got special plans for you, mi amor.”

Anathema sighed in resignation. She could really do without this tasked assigned to her by some stupid magical fate. She didn’t even ask for it. Who said, that she wanted to do this?

Her mother continued anyway. She seemed to be proud to have such an important daughter. It was embarrassing.

“Agnes gave us the easy job. We just had to make sure everything was good for the family. You're the one that's going to have to save the world.”

_Wow so dramatic_ Anathema thought, but she didn’t dare say it out loud.

*************

Meanwhile, in Dorking, Surrey, Major Pulsifer’s grandson should have been in bed hours ago. His eyes were dry from trying to keep them open and underlined by dark circles. But he needed to finish this.

His mother knocked on the door. She gave him a concerned look.

“Newton? You still awake, dear?”

Newton kept fiddling with his experiment. He dismissively waved his hand without looking at his mother.

“Just a few more minutes, Mum. I'm putting the old amp back together.”

His mother shook his head unapprovingly.

“You young scientists and your experiments.”

Newton sighed.

“It's not really an experiment, Mum. I just changed the plug. It'll work now.” He said.

It had to. He stared at the electric angrily. It would work. Maybe if he just kept telling himself that, it would actually turn out to be true.

“I’m just trying to be cool like all the other guys in the bands.” He mumbled, more to himself.

His mother didn’t hear him. She was caught up in her own worries.

“I do hope the man from the electric isn't going to be upset again.” She said in resignation.

Newton plugged in the amp. Immediately the power in the entire block failed. They were left in the dark.

Newton kicked the amp in frustration.

“It's not fair.” He said, falling to his knees, sobbing.

His mother kneeled next to him, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“Oh, don't worry, love. It's not as if it's the end of the world.”

That may be true for his mother, but to Newton, like so many other teenagers, it felt very much like it.

  
  
***********

“I just wanted to say, well, good luck on the new job. I hope it works out this time.”

Newton rolled his eyes. Sometimes his mother could be a bit overbearing. He wasn’t a child anymore. Still, he loved her.

“I'm sure it'll be fine, Mum.” He said, looking down in embarrassment.

His cheeks glowed bright red.

“You've just been unlucky.” She said.

“I made you sandwiches.”

She offered him the bag, which contained two of her famous cheese and ham sandwiches. She gave him a small kiss on the forehead.

Newton glanced around nervously. He really hoped no one had seen this. He was enough of an embarrassment himself. He didn’t need his mother to reinforce this status.

He waved his mum goodbye before getting into his old, run down car. He had a good feeling about this. Maybe it would work this time.

“And you are?” The guy asked.

He was very tall and had quite a lot of tattoos showing from under his sleeves.

“Newton Pulsifer. Sound engineer. I'm new.” Newton answered.

The guy gave him a funny look. Newton looked down on his clothes. He was wearing a tartan shirt and baggy jeans. Not exactly what one would expect a cool sound engineer to wear.

The guy led him over to the mixer console anyway, where he was quickly assigned to plug in the instruments on stage. They felt safe giving him such an easy task, not wanting to risk any damage done to their expensive equipment. They were mistaken.

“Excuse me, I was just wondering, is there a way that I could do this without the actually touching any equipment?” Newton asked.

His superior, the elder sound engineer, was still talking to his college. He turned to Newton and frowned.

“Is there a way of setting up the instruments...without actually touching the equipment?” He asked and raised an eyebrow.

Newton wrung his hands nervously.

“Or maybe I could just survey and coordinate the setup. You know tell other people how to plug it in for me.”

The other guy seemed really confused now. He was about to congratulate poor Newton on his hilarious joke, when he was interrupted by one of the band members entering the scene. The guy had a lot of muscles, poking through his skinny shirt. He was rather enjoying himself and the courtesy.

“Okay, who's excited for the concert? Let's see some hands. Yeah?” He spurred on the workers.

Cheering was audible.

Then another woman came running into the room. She seemed upset.

“Just so that you know, Norman, I've registered a complaint with the city about this whole racket nonsense.”

The man rolled his eyes, talking down on the woman like she was some annoying and naive child.

“It's a concert, Janice. It’s supposed to be loud. And, um, just so as you know, there's no silence in music, yeah?”

He laughed. The rest of the room followed his lead.

Newton felt a bit sorry for the woman. She was crying and this Norman was being a real dick.

“But there' silence at night, when other people want to sleep, Norman. And there are silent breaks in music!” She sobbed and ran out of the room.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Norman tried to break it with forced laughter.

Newton was not so much concerned about the social discomfort of the other workers, but more about the technical problem lying before him.

His superior cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Alright. So, can I have everybody's attention, please?” He tried to assign new task, and everyone felt relieved to escape the sudden tension.

Someone tapped Newton on the shoulder. He already had the cable in hand.

“Sorry, I've just got to plug this in and I'll be with you.” Newton said, but hesitated.

Then he plugged in the cable. There was a short static noise. Then the whole structure exploded. After the smoke had cleared he was left with a very burned sound system and a very angry musician.

Newton took a step back, raising his hands appealingly. The pure hatred in the other’s eyes did not look very promising. And here he was thinking he could actually keep a job for longer than a day.

He gulped.

“Sorry, just not very good with the electrical thing.” He said.

A few moments later he found his bottom hitting the stones of the sidewalk before the venue. He had landed in a puddle. Newton sighed. Dripping, he made the way to his car. It looked like he had peed his pants.

“Need a diaper, Dick?” Someone called after him, laughing.

“My name's not actually Dick. It's the car's name. You can ask me why, if you like.” Newton said, trying to sound funny.

Newton had had a bumper sticker on his car for all eternity that read “Dick Turpin”. He really hoped someday someone would actually ask him what it meant. It didn’t work. No one ever asked him that.

He got in the car and sat his head on the steering wheel. It would be some more hours before he could let his mother catch sight of him again. Maybe she would believe him if he said, that he had lasted a whole hour.

***********

“Hello.”

Anathema handed the lady behind the counter her passport, trying to look real unsuspicious. The woman looked very annoyed that Anathema even dared to interact with her. She was how Anathema always imagined the British people to be. Everything Anathema had seen so far seemed really British. It was exciting.

“Anathema Device?” She asked, pronouncing the e instead of the a of Anathema’s name.

Anathema smiled patiently.

“Anathema Device. It's an old family name.” She corrected.

The lady didn’t bother.

“Purpose of your visit to the United Kingdom?” She asked.

“Well, I'm running away from an ancient family prophecy. I'm supposed to use all wisdom at my disposal to hunt down the heart of darkness, and then do all that I can to destroy it before it brings about the end of the world or something. But I don’t actually want to do that, so I skipped out of my room one night and took the next available flight to England, without my family knowing about it.”

The lady stared at her.

“I'm sorry?”

Anathema smiled.

“Vacation.” She said.

***********

“Hello, Mum. The new job? Yeah, it's going really well. They're great. They love me.” Newton said, walking down the street.

It was about the time he would have his lunchbreak now. He was trying very hard to sound cheerful.

Some man was standing on the square in front of one of the many bigger and important looking buildings in London. He was holding a sign, which said “Be aware of teenagers!” and reciting rather loudly. No one was listening to him. Newton could barely make out his words over his mother’s worrying.

“Walk past them with your noses in the air.” The man screamed.

“I see you later, honey.” His mother told him.

Newton sighed and put down his phone.

“Bye, Mum.” He said.

The man was still pursuing his speech. Newton stopped to listen to him for a few seconds. He was very old and seemed like a complete nutjob. His hair was greasy, his beard way too long and his eyes gloomed manically.

“There's only one thing we have to fear, you sissies, and it's not global warming, and it's not nuclear Armageddon. Can anyone here tell me what it is?”

Nobody answered, because there wasn’t actually anyone watching except for Newton. But that didn’t diminish the man’s motivation.

“Ha! You don't answer. You don't answer, because you know it's true. They are hidden in our midst. I'm the thin red line that stands between humanity and the darkness. Yea, I'm talking about…”

“Teenagers?” Newton asked baffled.

He realised too late, that he had said this thought out loud.

The man looked at him, his intense stare drilling into his Newton’s skull.

“Aye, teenagers.” He agreed.  
  
  


Sometimes Newton wondered how he got himself into these kind of situations. He was now standing next to the man, who was mere seconds ago talking about the destruction of earth by teenagers, and they were patiently waiting for the man in the food truck to serve them their coffee.

The man was talking to him, incited by the fact that someone had actually bothered to listen to him.

“They lurk behind a façade of righteousness. And there's naebody, who can stop them...but me.”

“You’re talking about teenagers.” Newton said doubtfully.

“Not some kind of monster.”

The man glared at him. Newton shut his mouth. The man continued.

“In the old days, unbehaved brats like them were giving a good beating. Me own granddad, Matthew Hopkins...he used to slap me each time for any disobedience I showed. And, look at me now, it paid out.” He laughed, what sounded more like a wheeze in his case.

Newton felt really uncomfortable. The old guy was clearly out of his mind. Would anyone notice if he tried to drag him into a back alley and murder him?

“Are you, um, beating children?” He asked instead.

The guy laughed.

“Oh, I am not. You are no longer allowed to do so, and however rude these bastards may be, I would not dare go against the holy law.”

For a moment he seemed saddened about that. Newton, however, exhaled in relief.

“You are certainly allowed to bring everything they do to justice through the legal process, tough.” The man said.

“There are many people, who have devoted their lives to the honourable task of collecting and publishing all their misdeeds. But there is only one man here in London. And you're looking at him.”

Proudly he presented Newton with a crinkled ID card. It was issued by a newspaper Newton had never heard about. It didn’t seem very reputable, so most likely that was no wonder. He read what was printed next to the photo.

“Well, pleased to meet you, Mr Shadwell.” He said, smiling awkwardly.

It was now their turn and Mr. Shadwell turned to the food truck to place his order.

“Um, cup of tea. Nine sugars. And a packet of cheese and onion crisps.” He said.

And to Newt he requested.

“Get your wallet out, laddie.”

Newton frowned but got out his wallet. Before he could react, Mr. Shadwell had snatched a twenty pound note from it and placed it on the counter. He didn’t ask if Newton needed anything.

“Bit of advice: You never want to appear tight-fisted on first acquaintance.” He said.

Newton was stunned. He didn’t even know how to deal with this sort of behaviour. Mr. Shadwell would have probably prescribed a proper beating.

Said Mr. Shadwell grinned.

“And it's not _Mr Shadwell._ It's chief editor Shadwell.” He corrected.

He picked up his tea and started to sip it.

“What's your name, lad?” He asked.

“Newton. Newton Pulsifer.” Newton’s mouth said before his brain could stop it.

He wanted to slap himself. Mr. Shadwell thought about this.

“Pulsifer? Weird name. Never heard of it.” Newton shrugged.

He was used to that kind of reaction. His parents always used to tell him about the noble line of Pulsifer police officers. He didn’t exactly fit the pattern.

Shadwell examined him from head to toe.

“You’re not a teenager?” He asked.

“I’m twenty two” Newton mumbled.

He was used to people thinking he looked younger than he was, as well. He always got thrown out of bars and clubs.

“How many piercings have you got?”

Newton looked up again in bewilderment.

“What?” He asked.

“Piercings, laddie. These round metal things the young folk like to put in their skin. How many?”

Newton frowned. He could not be serious about this, right? You wouldn’t just ask this a complete stranger. Was he even having this conversation or was all of this just a fever dream?

“Um, none? “ He said, but it sounded more like a question.

Shadwell nodded and handed him a very ragged newspaper. An ad war circled in red marker. 

“Okay...Be here at 11:00 tomorrow.”

Newton took the paper, only to be confronted by the logo of the same newspaper as on Shadwell’s ID. They were offering a job. The old man was already walking away from him.

“Bring scissors.” He shouted, before turning a corner and vanishing.

*************

Anathema greeted the man from the movers, as he carried another box into her new home. She smiled, looking at the beautiful cottage before her. Flowers were blooming around the old brick walls and the whole ground was surrounded by a lovely little fence.

“Just put it there.” She said.

The man nodded and sat down her stuff on the table. Everything smelled of fresh paint.

“Thanks so much.”

Satisfied she took a deep breath, releasing all the stress from the last eventful hours.

“What a gorgeous village, huh?” She asked.

Her mother had once told her, that her grandmother grew up in this village. She found is only fitting that she would return here after all this years. This was the last place her parents would go looking for her.

The man only nodded again. He didn’t seem that much of a talking guy.

Anathema smiled. Nothing could dampen her good mood today.

“Thank you.” She said, the man turning and leaving the cottage.

She straightened herself.

“Hmm...Right. To work.”

************

Crowley was wallowing in his own misery. Also he might have been a bit drunk. He hadn’t left or cleaned his apartment for quite a while now. Everything, including him, smelled disgusting.

“Easy job. Deliver the Champagne. Keep an eye on the judge.” He talked to himself aloud.

He was lying on the sofa, sipping the vodka directly from the bottle. He felt miserable. But he didn’t cry. Crying was for babies and softies. And Crowley considered himself none of the above. He preferred whining and drinking.

“Nice, straightforward job, eh? Not the kind of fucking thing any troublemaker is going to fucking screw up, right?”

He liked to say fuck a lot when he was angry. It made him feel better.

He raised the bottle again only to find it empty. He groaned. It felt like the whole universe was turning against him.

Finally he picked himself up from the sofa. The walls were spinning a bit but somehow he managed to scroll through the labyrinth of empty bottles on the ground.  
  
The only things in the flat Crowley devoted any personal attention to were the houseplants. He had heard about talking to plants from a very unreliable source some time ago, and thought it an excellent idea. Although "talking" was perhaps the wrong word for what Crowley did. He liked to consider them his therapists. He could yell at them, when he was angry, and they would not judge him for it. Not like real people. Also they had one really big advantage over real therapy: Crowley would not actually have to work on his problems.

He grabbed the plant mister and started snarling some insults at them.

“Stupid little, shitty things, getting me into these fucking situations.”

He sprayed the water as angry as he was possible able to spray something.

“Going around spending time with the enemy. Real good idea. Just focus on your fucking tasks.” He muttered.

“Fucking stupid, stupid, stupid. I fuck up everything.”

He was just thinking of ~~Aziraphale’s amazingly soft and fluffy hair~~ how he was able to even destroy his friendship with the literal embodiment of kindness, when his eyes fell on a very suspiciously brown leaf.

“Is that a spot?” He growled.

“Is it? Right, you know what I've told you all about leaf spots. I will not stand for them!”

If the plants were able to shiver they would have done just that right now. Crowley sighed.

“You know what you've done! You've disappointed me.”

He took the small cactus which had presented him with the embarrassing spot.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Everyone! Say goodbye to your friend.”

He showed the plant to the others, as if they might understand his threat.

“He just couldn't cut it. Now, this is going to hurt you so much more than it will hurt me” He said taking the plant to his kitchen and turning on the garbage disposal.

He came back to show them the empty pot.

“And you guys, GROW BETTAH!” He shouted angrily.

Crowley liked to think that he put the fear of God into them, or more precisely, the fear of Crowley. He wanted the plants to be the most luxurious, verdant and beautiful in Tadfield. But Crowley was a terrible gardener. Maybe he should have considered watering them more often instead of shouting at them. This way they only turned out to be one of the most endangered plants in Tadfield. Also, the most terrified.

Of course Crowley didn’t really put the plants in the garbage disposal. Although he wanted people to think of him as very tough and cool, he would not be able to even hurt one innocent plant. He just put them out of their pots and took them out to the garden to plant them there the next day. His landlady kept wondering where all the strange plants where coming from.

*********

Aziraphale fiddled with the telephone cord.

“The collection of the Nice and Accurate lyrics of Agnes Nutter?” He asked, surprised.

“I'm so sorry, I can't help you. We’re a bookshop not a music store.”

The person on the other line seemed very much not pleased by that statement.

Aziraphale hated taking calls for his parents. He hated costumer service in general. He’d rather just read the books and skip the whole selling part.

He rolled his eyes.

“Well, of course I know who she was. Born 1951, vanished 1985. But there are no copies of her book available.”

This time, however, his knowledge didn’t come from all the time he spent reading, but another hobby of his. (But more on that later.)

He listened again. Sometimes he just wanted to leave all his manners behind and scream at them.

“No, I can't name my price. I don't have it. Nobody has…”

He was interrupted again.

“Well, there really is no need for that kind of language.” He said and slammed the phone down on the cradle.

He didn’t care if this person would tell his parents about his behaviour. He was pissed.

***********

Newton looked at the building before him. It seemed really shady and very much not like an office for a paper. He rang the doorbell anyway.

He didn’t even know why he was here. This Mr. Shadwell seemed to be a complete arsehole. But he seemed to like him so maybe Newton would actually be able to keep this job. He could do with some more money. There was no turning back now.

It took a while but then an elderly woman opened the door. She smiled at him.

Newton cleared his throat.

“Um, hello. I'm here about the advert in the paper?” He said.

“Well, the canary cage is already sold, I’m afraid.” She said, still smiling patiently.

All her clothes were very colourful and plushy. She had a very kind face with long fake eyelashes.

“I think there must be another advert.” Newton stuttered.

This was going very different than he expected. Was this the wrong address? To his relief there seemed to be another advert. She smiled and led him inside by his shoulder.

“Oh, right. Come in, dear. You're lucky. One of my regulars had to cancel. Now, maybe we can just have a little chat today and get to know each other and then make some more arrangements? Would you care for some tea? Also, if it's some kind of medicine you'll be wanting, you'd better tell me now because we’re not doing that kind of thing here. Bloody drugs they’re giving to the kids these days. We’re just here for the talking bit, right? To see you’re actually getting better.”

Newton was very taken aback by her sudden outburst.

“I'm sorry?” He asked.

The woman blinked.

“Are you not here for consoling and excessive therapy for young adults and teenagers?” She asked.

“No.” Newton shook his head.

“I'm here for the job at the paper.” Newton said, holding up said paper to prove his point.

The woman’s smile lit up again.

“Oh! Mr Shadwell said he was expecting a visitor.”

She hurried along the corridor excitedly, Newton following close after. It smelled like old bricks and water damage.

Finally the woman knocked on a big wooden door. She turned back to Newton.

“It's just been him for so long.” She explained.

The door was jerked open. Mr. Shadwell peeked his head through the slit.

“Aye.” He said.

The woman smiled.

“It's your new recruit, Mr Shadwell, look.”

She pointed at Newton, who gave him a small wave with his hand, not knowing what do instead. Mr. Shadwell opened the whole door now and stepped out into the hallway to take a better look at Newton. He nodded.

The woman looked delighted. Mr. Shadwell not so much.

“Away with you, traitor! Manipulative hag! Snake!”

The woman rolled her eyes. She didn’t seem so much indignant but rather amused by his cursing. Newton wondered what kind of relationship they had. It seemed there were a lot of unspoken thing looming in the air. 

“Oh, Mr Shadwell. I'll bring you both tea.”

A ghost of a smile went over Mr. Shadwell’s face before he quickly restrained himself and went back to glaring at her. The woman chuckled.

“Milk and sugar, dear?” She asked Newton.

“He's not one of your little dysfunctional devils, hag. He'll make his own tea. Without you putting any drugs in it.”

He dragged Newton inside his apartment by the wrist, protectively standing between the woman and him. Newton was too stunned to protest.

“How many times, Mr. Shadwell. I’m a psychotherapist not a shrink. And we are not in America!”

But Shadwell had already slammed the door in her face. He was now marching up and down in front of Newton, who had already been assigned to cooking tea. He felt unpleasant reminded of his internships back in school.

“Welcome to _London’s Teens and Terrors_ , new recruit. You are, as of now, local reporter Pulsifer.”

Newton nodded, pretending to be interested. He sat the kettle on the stove. Shadwell was wallowing in memories.

“We used to be powerful. We used to be important.” He said.

Newton doubted that. He opened the fridge to look for some milk, but was hit by a very foul smell. He closed the door immediately.

Shadwell smiled.

“Condensed milk, lad.” He pointed at a cupboard.

“And I take…”

Newton rolled his eyes, reminded of the amounts of sugar the man had had in his tea yesterday. It was a miracle he hadn’t yet died of diabetes.

“Nine sugars.” He said.

Shadwell smiled, very pleased with Newton’s obedience. 

“Exactly.”

Newton couldn’t help but feel a bit proud.

Shadwell continued.

“We were the line of fire between the mental enfeeblement and the poor unsuspecting folk who don't believe in the cruelty of teenagers.”

“Hmm!” Newton said unimpressed, adding the milk to the concoction.

Then he frowned and set down the milk on the counter.

“But, Sergeant Shadwell, don't the schools do that these days? They teach the children and teenager how to behave in our society, right?”

“Nay, laddie. Against these grievances?” He laughed.

“It's a war.”

His eyes began to spark eerily.

“And you know what our first weapon is?” He asked conspiratorially.

Newton pointed to a large wooden stick that was displayed on the wall. Shadwell’s eyes followed the direction of his finger. He laughed.

“Oh! The baton of chief editor "Get 'em before they get you" Dalrymple?”

He shook his head in amusement.

“Nay, laddie. That'll never be used again. Not in this degenerate age.”

He tenderly caressed the wood, looking very sad.

Newton meanwhile took the scissors, he had actually bought with him, out from his pocket. The sad expression vanished and the old smile crept back on Shadwell’s face.

“Very good.” He said.

“And you know what we do with them?”

Newton frowned then made a stabbing motion. Shadwell laughed.

“No, lad. I admire your conviction, but I’m afraid that is unfortunately rather illegal.”

Instead he handed him a very huge stack of newspapers. Newton wheezed as the weight hit his arms. Shadwell smiled.

“We read. And we cut.”

**************

Crowley was still lying on the sofa. Without the constant ingestion of alcohol his head had started to throb. He groaned as the strident sound of his ringing phone cut through the looming headache. He didn’t want to get up.

“Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.” His answering machine answered for him.

Crowley’s heart skipped a beat as Aziraphale’s voice filled the empty flat. He sounded nervous.

“No leads yet at my end. Anything at your end?”

Crowley tried getting up from the sofa and answering the phone, but his legs had entangled themselves with the blanked, so he only landed on his butt. He cursed. 

Aziraphale kept talking.

“Listen, I have sort of an idea.”

Crowley hurried over to his phone, leaping on one foot to shake the blanket off the other one. He reached for his phone, but tripped over an empty bottle on the ground. The blanket was still around his foot and he was surrounded by a sea of bottles.

“What?” He growled into his phone.

“Ah, hello.” Aziraphale Chirped.

Maybe hearing his voice made the situation at least a tiny bit more endurable for Crowley.

“When you did the Champagne delivery 11 month ago, could something have gone wrong?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley frowned.

“What?”

************

“You've lost the judge.” Aziraphale said.

“We've lost him.” Crowley corrected.

Aziraphale sighed.

“A judge has been lost.” He repeated.

He really wasn’t in the mood for starting a fight with Crowley now.

“But you still know his time of arrival…”

“We know.” Crowley interrupted him again.

It was taking all of Aziraphale strength not to snap at him.

“His name. He's called Adam Young.”

“You make it sound easy.” Crowley snarled.

“Well, it can't be that hard.” Aziraphale said.

He let out a deep breath.

“I just hope nothing's happened to him.”

Crowley snorted. Sometimes Aziraphale seemed too kind to be actually alive in this cruel world.

“Happened? Nothing's happened to him. He happens to everything.” He growled.

Aziraphale didn’t let Crowley’s bad mood put him off his stride. He had learned to be pacient with him.

“So, we only have to find the right train. Go through the files at the train station.” He said.

“And then what?”

Crowley turned to face him, taking his eyes from the street. Aziraphale winced.

“And then we find the child.” He said, trying to sound as conclusive as possible.

It didn’t have the desired effect.

“And then what?” Crowley scoffed.

“Watch out for that pedestrian.” Aziraphale shouted in pure terror.

The tires screeches, Crowley jerked the steering wheel around. Aziraphale tightly shut his eyes. He could already feel the Bentley hitting the poor woman. But the impact didn’t come. They speeded past her by a gnat's whisker.

Crowley laughed rather manically. He was enjoying this. Speeding around and teasing Aziraphale.

“She's on the street. She knows the risk she's taking.”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief.

“Just watch the--Watch the road.” He said upset, his voice still shaking.

He really wasn’t made for these speeds. And Crowley wasn’t exactly a very good driver.

“Wh-Where is this train station, anyway?” He asked, clutching his chest as the manoeuvred round another pedestrian.

“A bit further down the road, in the woods.” Crowley said, finally turning his eyes back to the traffic.

They cut another corner.

“Crowley, you can't do 90 miles per hour on this road!” Aziraphale screeched, furiously pointing at the speedometer.

“Why not?” Crowley asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You'll get us killed!”

Crowley smirked.

“Well, that’s not the sort of thing an Emo fears, really.” He said.

Aziraphale grabbed the handle over his head, trying to steady his breathing.

“Music. Why don't I put on a little... music?” He mumbled, flustered and started to dig through Crowley CD’s.

Like his flat, his car was a complete mess. Disgusted Aziraphale threw away an old chewing gum that had stuck to his hand.

“What's a Bring-me-the-horizon” He asked, raising the corresponding CD.

Crowley contorted his face.

“You wouldn't like it.” He said.

Aziraphale shrugged understandingly. He knew Crowley's music taste. He didn't particularly like it, but it just was a part of him that made him so... _Crowley_.

“Oh. Bebop.” He said.

The CDs tumbled to his feet again as Crowley went even faster and Aziraphale’s face became even paler. A small yelp escaped his lips as they turned another corner.

**********

“I still can't believe they let you stay with the Young’s, Adam.” Pepper said.

This time their little group had found the courage to actually meet up in person. It was only a few more days till the band contest and the rest of the Them had joined Adam in Tadfield to witness the following events up close. They were currently all sitting in Pepper’s hotel room.

Wensleydale nodded.

“Actually, I thought they would give you the room at the music residency and the other guy would move in with his aunt and uncle. That would make way much more sense.”

Adam shrugged. His was staring at the bright TV screen.

“It's okay.” He said to everyone’s surprise.

Normally Adam would have freaked out about every trifle and at the very least pressed for compensation. He seemed a bit too relaxed.

Pepper raised an eyebrow.

“Who, the fuck, are you and what did you do to Kind Adam?” She asked.

“It wasn’t their fault. They were really embarrassed about it. And we talked, and Mrs. Dowling seemed quite keen on having Adam around for a while longer. I don’t mind really. Mrs. Young’s cooking is spectacular.”

Pepper giggled.

“Oh, our mighty Kind Adam actually likes the Young’s.”

Adam blushed a bit.

“Shut it! I just don’t really care because everything here is equally boring and shitty.” He snapped.

Pepper was still grinning, but wise enough not to push Adam on the topic.

“My host family is okay. It pretends I'm not there most of the time.” Brian said thoughtfully.

Wensleydale had discovered the mini bar and was now happily licking an ice pop.

“Did you know that my cousin Charlotte says that in America, they have shops that sell 39 different flavours of ice cream? We should really go on tour there some time.” He said.  
  
Wensleydale's first name is Jeremy, but nobody's ever used it, not even his parents, who call him _Youngster_ , to his great dismay. All that stands between Wensleydale and chartered accountancy is his great passion for music and his incongruous clothing style.  
  
Pepper glared at him.

“There aren't 39 different flavours of ice cream. There aren't 39 flavours of ice cream in the whole world.” She said confidently.

Pepper's given first names were Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. She had been given them in a naming ceremony in a muddy valley field that contained several sheep and a number of leaky polythene tents. Six months later, sick of the rain, the men, the sheep who ate first their marijuana crop and then their tents, Pepper's mother returned to Tadfield and enrolled in a Sociology course. S

he would have been very good friends with Agnes Nutter, but unfortunately time never meant for the two of them to meet up.

You never wanted to be on Pepper’s wrong side. She had a habit of winning every argument, even the one’s she was most definitely wrong about.  
  
“There could be, if you mixed them up. You know, strawberry and chocolate.” Brian said.  
  
Every band needs a bassist like Brian. Always calm, always supportive of anything Adam invents or needs. You never know if he is actually in thought or just stoned.  
  
“Vanilla and chocolate. Chocolate and vanilla. Strawberry and vanilla and chocolate. And maybe you can mix alcohol in it. Someone should do that. Make ice cream with alcohol.”

Pepper rolled her eyes.

“There is already rum flavoured ice cream.” She said.

Adam shifted on the sofa.

“Anyway, I’m staying at the Young’s now and you’re finally here. We're together to the end.” He smiled.  
  


It was silent for a while. Only the tootling of the television was audible.

“There's a witch in one of the cottages here. She moved in about the same time we got here.” Pepper suddenly said.

“That's stupid.” Wensleydale objected.

Pepper started to glare again.

“It's not stupid, stupid. Mrs Henderson, the hotel manager, told Mrs. Furring that the lady there is all evil and dresses like a witch.”

“Excuse me. Common sense says there's no such thing as witches. And if there were, they definitely would not dress up like the thing they actually are. That makes no sense.” Wensleydale insisted.

“But if no witch looks like a witch, how does a witch know what she shouldn’t look like?” Pepper said and grinned arrogantly.

Wensleydale opened his mouth a few times, only to close it again. He looked like a fish on land.

Adam shrugged.

“It makes sense that people assume her to be a witch. My gran always thought I was possessed by a demon, and I bet there’s loads more people who know about witches than demons.”

Pepper slapped him on the upper arm.

“Shut up. I'm trying to tell you things.” She hissed.

“She has a pentagram tattoo. She's a witch.”

“I have a pentagram tattoo” Brian said.

Pepper gave him a death stare. Wensleydale frowned.

“Actually, there are no more witches, because we invented science and all the vicars set fire to the witches for their own good. It was called the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I don't reckon it's still allowed, going round setting fire to people. Otherwise people'd be doing it all the time.” Adam said.

He switched to a different channel on the TV. Now there was something about ducks.

“It's alright if you're a vicar and it stops the witches from going to hell.” Brian said.

He paused, thinking.

“Or if you’re American, while invading a country with oil.”

He scratched his head.

“So I expect they'd be quite grateful if they understood it properly.”

“I don’t think people have a reason to be grateful about being invaded.” Pepper said.

“We could just ask.” Adam suggested.

“Actually, we can't, because we don’t know any Americans. And I’d assume if it was that easy to reason with them, the countries who’ve been invaded, would have already tried it.” Wensleydale pointed out.

He finished his ice pop and threw the stick in the wastebasket a few feet away. They watched in silence as it soared right past it and landed on the ground.

“I've been to America. I can teach you how to be like them. They say "elevator" instead of lift.” Brian said.

Adam shook his head.

“No I mean the witch. We could just ask her, if she really is a witch.”

Wensleydale went to get another ice pop.

“Maybe she is also American.” He said.

***********

“This is the area. Does it look familiar yet?” Aziraphale asked, peeking over at Crowley, who still seemed a bit pissed.

“You know, it does. I think I’ve been around here somewhere. You know, sometime in the last 18 years I’ve been living here.” Crowley said sarcastically.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at his over dramatic reaction.

“Also I looked up the way again, after Hastur told me about the road closure.” Crowley admitted, a bit more reserved.

Aziraphale tried to hold back his smile. He knew Crowley would never exchange his Bentley for a train ride, so naturally he wouldn’t know the way to the train station.

“Road closure? ” He asked instead.

“Well, you don't think fancy band contest judges usually take the rambling train to the middle of nowhere, do you?” Crowley said.

“No, it all had to seem to happen naturally, so the motorway was closed off due to ongoing construction. Traffic jams started to happen; He won’t be able to make it here by car. _Oh_ , our man there said. _There's a Tadfield train station, just take the tram._ And there we were. Rather good organisation.”

Aziraphale couldn’t tell, whether Crowley was really proud of their little scheme, or appalled that it had actually worked quite well for the first half.

“Flawless.” He mocked.

“It should have worked.” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Ah, but evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction.” He lectured, nodding confidently.

“No matter how well-planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder on the rocks of iniquity and vanish.”

Crowley grimaced in disgust.

“You didn’t make that up all by yourself, did you?” He asked, looking at Aziraphale horrified.

Aziraphale chuckled in embarrassment.

“No, I’m afraid that is from a book I read.”

Crowley seemed relieved. Then he shrugged.

“For my money it was just an ordinary cock-up.”

He said, really not paying attention to Aziraphale, who was flushing furiously at his remark.

************

Anathema opened the door and looked at the weird assembly of people on her door step. They all seemed to be grownups, but were dressed like they had stepped directly from a fantasy novel. One of them was wearing a pointed wizard hat.

“Hey, guys.” She said, chewing rather loudly on her chewing gum.

“Hi.” The man in the front, apparently their group leader, answered.

She scanned their outfits warily.

“Nice hat.” She finally said.

“Actually, we made it out of cardboard. It's for our D and D game.” Wensleydale said.

He had been eying their interlocutor as well. Her long dark hair loosely fell over her shoulders. They were streaked with colourful wisps. She wore ripped jeans, combat boots and a studded belt. The only thing that may have struck him as witchy were her eyes, which had a weird purple like colour.

“Stylish. What are you guys playing?” She said, while she languidly blew a strand from her face.

“We’re a guild and we kill monster.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. It didn’t seem strange to her that these people were standing in front of her door and talking about their D and D game. After all it was much better than someone from the Jehovah's Witnesses.

“Sounds like fun. How does the game work?” She asked.

“I am Dungeon Master. Brian is a bard. Pepper is an assassin. And Wensleydale is a sorcerer. And we're trying to slaughter as much monsters as possible.”

Anathema stopped chewing.

“Oh. Sounds very…sensible.” She said cautiously.

They stared at each other in silence for a while. Anathema cleared her throat.

“How can I help you, anyway? You’re not here to talk about D and D, are you?”

“You are American, right? Are you also a witch?” Wensleydale blurted out before anyone could stop him.

Pepper’s elbow found his upper arm.

“You’re not supposed to ask her up front.” She hissed.

The Them seemed quite embarrassed. Anathema rolled her eyes. Of course her extraordinary nature would have to catch up with her so fast. Why was she even trying to rum from, if it would catch up with her that fast?

She sighed and nodded in pretended defeat.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Brian asked baffled.

The uncomfortable silence returned.

“You can't say yes. You've got to say no.” Pepper finally complained.

Anathema raised an eyebrow.

“Then what?” She asked.

“Then we torture you until you say yes. Like the old Spanish people used to do.” Pepper said, glaring at her from below.

She was much shorter than Anathema and currently she was also standing on the ground while Anathema was standing a bit higher on the door step.

“Torture me?” Anathema asked unfazed.

Wensleydale pulled out a cross from his pockets and pointed it at her.

“We will get you to confess properly.” He said.

Anathema didn’t point on that crosses only worked on vampires and that he was actually holding it the wrong way round. She just rolled her eyes.

“But, obviously, in this situation, you actually think that I am a witch. If word spread around town so fast, I might as well be wearing a pointy hat like him.”

She pointed at Wensleydale. Adam tried to calm her down, putting out his hands appealingly.

“Look, no one's saying you can't be a witch, but you just have to say you're not a witch. There's no point taking all this trouble if you're going to go round saying yes the minute we ask you.” He said.

Pepper nodded.

“Just say no.”

Anathema groaned.

“But” She tried to reason with them but was again interrupted by Wensleydale jumping forward and poking her with the cross.

“Art thou a witch, oh, evil crone?” He screeched.

“Excuse me, Adam, why are we still here? Didn’t we want to play D and D?” Brain asked annoyed, watching Wensleydale prancing and waving about the cross in Anathema’s face.

“Hello, I'm being tortured here. Actually, this is very painful. I am thinking of admitting to being a witch.” Anathema said blandly and slapped away Wensleydale arm.

“I'm going to go home if you want to continue this.”

He motioned vaguely at the whole situation.

“Don't see why evil witches should keep us from all the fun.”

He gave Anathema a sour look and turned around, walking down the driveway. Pepper followed his example and dragged the kicking Wensleydale with her.

Adam wanted to turn around as well, when Anathema held him back by the shoulder.

“Hey.”

Adam turned back around.

“Yeah?” 

“Can I ask you something?”

Adam cast a quick glance at his friends, who were already walking down the street. Then he nodded.

“Sure.”

“Is there anything lit happening in this city? Anything you could recommend?” She asked.

Adam shrugged.

“Well, there's our D and D game. I mean, that’s cool. You could join us if you want.”

He blushed a bit.

Anathema smiled.

“Not what I was looking for.” She said.

“Adam, are you coming?!” Pepper shouted.

Adam looked over his shoulder again.

“Hold on. I am having a conversation here!” He screamed back.

“Right, well, you guys are hilarious, but I'm going to keep looking so”

She made an awkward wave with her hand. Adam nodded, turned around and started walking towards his friends.

“Bye.” He said, and smiled.

***********

“Um, are you sure this is the right place?” Aziraphale asked.

He was walking towards the small building with his hands behind his back, while Crowley was swaggering along right next to him. He looked around.

“This-- This doesn't look like a functioning train station.” He paused and frowned.

“And… it feels _loved_.”

Crowley looked around. The building was a bit more sordid than he remembered, but this still was definitely the place. It looked almost like a fire had destroyed everything.

“No, it's definitely the place.” He said, his brows furrowed.

He turned to Aziraphale.

“What do you mean _loved_?”

Aziraphale shrugged.

“Well, I mean the opposite of when you say, _I don't like this place. It feels spooky_.”

Crowley shook his head in disbelief. ~~It was adorable.~~

“No one says that. I don’t think anyone has ever used that word in this context.” He asserted.

“Besides, I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me.”

He looked around again.

“Let's go talk to some mistresses.”

They walked towards the door and Aziraphale reached for the door handle, only to pull back his hand with a shriek. Crowley jumped forward. He started panicking as he saw that Aziraphale was clutching his hand.

_He had hurt himself! This was all Crowley’s fault._

He thought about getting his first aid kit from the car, or maybe calling and ambulance. One could never be too careful. Maybe the wound was infected and Aziraphale would die of tetanus.

But then Aziraphale turned his palm and Crowley could finally see the reason for his despair.

“Blue?”

A look of confusion crossed over his face. Finally it dawned on him.

“Oh, it's paint!”

Relief flooded through him. Aziraphale wasn’t hurt. Now he also notices the wet shimmer on the wood and the paint buckets next to the entrance.

“Hey!” An angry looking man strode over to them.

“You can’t just touch freshly painted surfaces!”

He threateningly pointed a finger at them.

“I don't know what you think you're playing at right…”

Crowley already had enough of him and kicked one of spray guns on the ground. It exploded in the man’s face with a satisfying _woosh._ A fine rain of paint clocked his whole body. The man ran away cursing.

Crowley grinned.

“Well, that was fun.” He said.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Well, yes, fun for you. Look at the state of my hand. It’s disgusting. I can’t touch anything with that.”

He showed Crowley his fully soaked hand to prove his point. Crowley sighed, pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s face lit up and he gave Crowley a sweet smile.

“Oh, thank you.”

He cleaned off his hands, while Crowley turned away so Aziraphale would not see his embarrassing blush.

Then Aziraphale picked up the exploded paint gun.

“I love these things. Impressive hardware. Could be a proper gun, only it shoots a fine layer of paint.”

He generated a pathetic ray of paint. The cartridge seemed to be empty.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Don't your lot disapprove of guns?” He asked.

Aziraphale nodded, still examining the tool.

“Unless they're in the right hands. Then they give weight to a moral argument. I think.”

Crowley laughed out loud. Aziraphale seemed taken aback by his reaction.

“A moral argument? Really?” Crowley wheezed.

He was still laughing, trying hard to catch his breath. It took him a while to calm down. A wide grin still lay on his lips.

“Come on. This is definitely the place.” He said and entered the station, for real this time.

Renovations no longer meant half a dozen unreliable people working on their respective tasks.  
Social conflicts of the last years had refined it into a cocktail brewing with much more potential that just that. They wanted to establish a pecking order, sow discord and resentment, which lead to civil war on many of the great constructions zones. So by now everyone was just blaming everyone else for tiny mistakes and also nobody was exactly sure what the schedule was supposed to look like.  
  


Crowley peeked around another corner. Everything smelled like cement and fresh paint, but there was also still the faint scent of smoke in the air.

“Wonder where the mistresses went.” He said.

Aziraphale followed closely behind.  
  
  


It didn’t help, of course, that the ordering party failed to mention any sentences along the lines of, _Until 11 month ago when it got burned down by an evil minded emo, the station was led by an order of gossiping mistresses who weren't actually very good at it._  
  
A plumber walked past them, muttering under his breath.

“Oh, Millie from the tilers put in the tilework before I installed the sanitary facility. Bloody incapable lot, if you ask me.” He said.

Of course nobody had asked. Crowley smirked. Aziraphale immediately recognized the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Crowley no.” He said, but Crowley had already grabbed a brush from one of the buckets of paint.

With big strokes he drove the brush over the white wall. It now read “tilers suck”.

Aziraphale looked at him, horrified.

“What-- What the hell did you just do?” He asked.

Crowley grinned.

“Well, they wanted a reason to start a war, so I gave them what they wanted.”

Another person walked by. They looked at the words on the walls and cursed.

“I always said you couldn't trust those plumbers. These bastards.”

They walked back in the direction they came from.

Aziraphale was still upset. He was desperately trying to reason with Crowley.

“These people will hate each other. God knows what that could lead to. Maybe they will start shooting at each other with the spray guns.”

His eyes went wide in shock.

Crowley laughed.

“Well, it lends weight to their moral argument. Everyone has free will, including the right to shoot at each other with paint guns. Just think of it as a microcosm of the universe.” He said.

Aziraphale gasped. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. Yes, Crowley was a troublemaker and he liked to live up to that name, but up until now Aziraphale never though him capable of something so cruel. Had he been mistaken?  
  
Outside a mob of very angry tilers had formed. They had tiles and spatulas in hand. The oldest one, their elected leader, was giving them a pep talk.

“I wanted to be a graphics designer, design LPs for my chemical romance, but the careers teacher said they had broken up. So I spent years installing fancy slate floors.”

Tears were shimmering in his eyes

“They couldn't just say, _Oh, Norman, we're giving you early retirement. Have a personalized tile, bugger off and tend your impressive vinyl collection.”_

He snapped out of his thoughts.

“Well, if they want war... we're going to give them war!” He screamed.

Ecstatic jeering. The man wielded his spatula.

“Okay, guys, let's get the bastards.”

And then an angry pack of tilers rushed towards the building.  
  
  


“They're murdering each other.” Aziraphale said a trace of panic and disbelieve in his voice.

Crowley sighed and turned to Aziraphale. He took off his sunglasses pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, they aren't. No one's killing anyone.”

He stifled another sigh.

“Maybe you should have paid more attention to what I was writing instead of immediately panickig. There will be no war.”

He waved around his sunglasses.

“It wouldn't be any fun otherwise. All the paperwork afterwards.”

Downstairs the tilers had finally entered the building. They had levied their weapons, ready to strike only to halt before the daubed wall. Their leader looked at the words in confusion. He turned to his colleague, who had informed them about the insulting message.

“What is this?” He asked.

“This is the scribbling” They answered, sending nervous glances at the wall and their voice shaking lightly.

A frustrated groan escaped the leader’s lips.

“But this doesn’t say _tilers suck_. It says _Tylers suck_ ”

The colleague whimpered slightly.

“So what is the difference?” They asked.

The leader rolled his eyes.

“The difference is the ‘y’, you moron. Clearly this is not directed at us, but a “Tyler”, whoever that may be.”

“But…” The colleague stuttered, but his words were drowned out by the angry muttering of the mob.

The leader gave them a last murderous look before turning back towards the crowd.

“Retreat!” He yelled and followed the tilers, who were very discontented that they wouldn’t be able to murder any plumbers today.

In the end the only person left was a very sad looking young man. He started at the words on the wall.

“But why would anyone hate me?” Tyler whispered to himself.

Aziraphale couldn’t help for a proud smile to cross over his face. Happily he bounced along to catch up with Crowley.

“You know, Crowley,” He teased.

“I've always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice…”

He wasn’t able to finish that sentence. Crowley grabbed him by the collar and forcefully pushed him into the wall. Their faces were dangerously close. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s warm breath against his skin. He smelled like his cheap deodorant, cigarette smoke and alcohol. Aziraphale’s heart rate picked up a bit, ~~feeling Crowley’s cold fingers on his skin~~ , ~~being so dangerously close to Crowley~~ , intimidated by Crowley’s sudden fury.

“Shut it! I'm an emo. I'm not nice.” Crowley snarled.

Aziraphale could feel that behind all his rage, he was hiding a certain amount of insecurity. ~~Or maybe it was just him projecting his feelings on the situation.~~

“I'm never nice. Nice is a four-letter word. I will not have…” Crowley’s rant was interrupted by a woman entering the hallway.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Sorry to break up an intimate moment. Can I help you?”

Crowley quickly brought as much distance as possible between him and Aziraphale. His cheeks were burning red.

Aziraphale too seemed a bit embarrassed.

Crowley was about to throw some nasty comments at the woman, when he suddenly recognised her.

“You.” He growled.

It was Mistress Mary. She stood there in shock, recognition crossing over her face as well.

“Trains and tracks preserve us, it's Mister Crowley.” She breathed, taking a step backwards.

Crowley couldn’t exactly tell why he did what he did next. His brain just short circuited. Without the approval of his brain, his arm moved and his fist met Mistress Mary’s chin. It sent her tumbling backwards until she hit the floor, unconscious.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried.

He rushed over to her, making sure she was alright. He gave Crowley a sore look.

“You didn't have to do that. You could have just asked her.” He reasoned.

“Oh...of course, of course. No. Yeah.” Crowley said, laughing somewhat hysterically.

“ _Excuse me, ma'am, we're two assumed archenemies just looking for the notorious judge of our band contest. Wonder if you might help us with our enquiries?”_ He sneered.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and helped the mistress to sit back up. Crowley’s punch had made her a bit dizzy and her eyes seemed unfocused.

“Um, ahem, look... hello.” Aziraphale said, smiling sheepishly.

“My friend here didn’t really mean to hit you.”

He tried to put as much sincerity as possible in his tone and silenced Crowley’s protest with a sharp glare.

“You weren't by any chance, a mistress here at this train station 11 month ago, were you?” He asked then.

Crowley groaned.

“You don’t have to ask her that. I _know_ she…”

Aziraphale gave him another death stare and he shut his mouth.

The Mistress creased her eyebrows together in confusion.

“I was.” She mumbled.

There were two versions of concerned Aziraphales swimming before her eyes.

“Luck of the devil.” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley pushed him aside and grabbed her by her shirt.

“What happened to the champagne I gave you?” He hissed.

The mistress frowned.

“It was given to the judge while I was talking to the organizer. Such a nice man. He used to be call champagne an expensive present. Then Mistress Theresa Garrulous came and took the present away.”

She rubbed her head, where she had hit the floor. A groan escaped her lips.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley accusingly. He shoved him away again and offered the Mistress his hand.

“Do we need to get you something to make you feel better, dear?” He asked, sympathetically.

“This organizer, what was his name? Where did he come from and what did he do with the judge?” Crowley shouted from behind.

“I don't know.”

Crowley let out a frustrated groan.

“Records. There must have been records.” Aziraphale suggested.

The two looked at the Mistress eagerly.

“Yes. There were lots of records. We were very good at keeping records.”

The Mistress nodded and instantly regretted it, as a sharp pain moved through her skull.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a hopeful glace.

“Well, where are they?” Aziraphale asked.

“Burned in the fire.”

“The fire?” Crowley asked.

Then it dawned on him.

“The renovations! The smell! Hastur! That bastard! I knew he would use the petrol for something different than BBQ.”

Aziraphale stifled a resigned sigh. He tried not to comment on the fact that Crowley was now technically an accessory to arson. Probably he would even be proud of it. Instead he turned back to the mistress.

“Well, is there anything you remember about the judge?” He asked.

The mistresses’ eyes glazed over as she faded out of consciousness again.

“He was called Adam.” She said sleepily, a silly grin plastered on her face.

Crowley punched the closest wall with a frustrated scream. It hurt. Maybe he should have thought about that earlier. He really needed to talk to his plants again.

“Let's go.” He growled in Aziraphale’s direction.

Aziraphale hesitated.

“We can’t just leave her like this.” He protested.

“She could have a mild concussion”

But Crowley didn’t listen to him. He walked down the corridor, still clutching his sore hand.

Aziraphale sighed and called an ambulance. He threw one last worried look at the Mistress before he hurried after Crowley.  
  


Just as they were leaving the building the ambulance pulled up. The paramedics got out and ran inside. Aziraphale watched the drama with a contented smile.

“You'd think he'd show up, wouldn't you? It’s a small village. You'd think we must have met him some time.” He said, as the strolled to Crowley’s car.

“He won't reveal himself. Not to us, anyway. Judgemental camouflage. It’s not like the participants should be able to bribe him that easily. The authorities will keep him hidden from prying occult forces.”

“Occult forces?” Aziraphale frowned.

He imagined some people in dark hoods trying to bribe the judge of their local band contest.

“You’re people and mine.” Crowley said.

“We’re not occult.” Aziraphale protested.

“We are a registered world religion.”

Crowley rolled her eyes. He really wished Aziraphale wound't be so particular about the whole religion thing. It felt wrong. He got his keys from his pockets.

“Christians aren't occult. We're ethereal.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat as he saw Crowley’s questioning eyebrow.

“Although that might be a bit of an extenuation” He admitted.

“Is there some other way of locating him?” He quickly changed the topic.

Crowley shrugged.

“How the fuck should I know? I don’t watch documentaries on judges in my spare time, you know.” He scoffed.

Then his expression softened. He really shouldn’t be taking out all of his frustration on Aziraphale. 

“But I know one thing, if we don't find him, it won't be the contest to end all rivalry. It'll be the contest to end all of this.”

Aziraphale nodded aghast and as he got into the car, felt the familiar heavy sensation tucking at his stomach.

**********

Most articles on punk culture will tell you that punks are very callous and cold. This is because most articles on punk culture are written by people irked by their behaviour.

Anathema was a very sentimental person. She had taken the book with her and kept it, even though it was the reason for all her misery. But she just couldn’t throw it away. She was currently pedalling on her old bike. She was on her way back home from a scouting expedition of the region. The book lay in her basket. Anathema told herself that it was because she would dispose of it later, but on the other hand she also felt really naked without always having a fitting lyric at hand.  
  
“Come on.” She muttered as the path began to ascend and it became difficult to keep her current speed.

“There's a very peculiar smell to this vehicle. I'm astonished you can't smell it.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sniffed.

“I don't smell anything out of the ordinary.” He said.

“But it's everywhere. All over here.” Aziraphale insisted.

“It smells…”

He sniffed again to exactly determine the scent.

“…burned. Flashes of petrol.” He eventually said.

“Maybe you should take your car to an inspection.”

Crowley scoffed.

“You're being ridiculous. Last thing we need right now is…”

The headlights captured the contours of a person, followed by an ominous thud.

It was silent. Both of them were too shocked to say anything.

“You hit someone.” Aziraphale finally pointed out the obvious.

His eyes were wide in fear.

“I didn't.” Crowley denied.

His hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel.

“Someone hit me.”

None of them dared to look outside. They just stared straight ahead. Aziraphale was the first to find the courage to get out of the car.

“Turn on the lights.” He ordered Crowley.

His legs were shaking while he moved around the car. His heat rate spiked as he laid eyes on the crouched figure next to the Bentley’s wheels. He moved closer, glad to find the girl conscious.

“Is she okay?” Crowley called over from a safe distance.

He would never admit it, but he was not able to see even to slightest amounts of blood. Also he was afraid that he had actually seriously injured the girl.

Anathema sat up. Her vision was swimming.

“Yes” Aziraphale called back.

Their voices seemed way too loud. She groaned.

“I think I hit my head.” She said.

Aziraphale gave her a worried smiled. He leaned over to check her arms and legs.

“That's it. No bones broken.” He said and let out a sigh of relief.

“My bike.” Anathema cried.

The bike was half covered by the forequarter of the car.

“Oh.”

Aziraphale got up and wrenched it from its impacted position. The front wheel was a bit bent but apart from that it still seemed functioning.

He smiled apologetically.

“Amazingly resilient, these old machines.” He said and gently helped her to her feet.

She was swaying a bit, like she was drunk.

“Where do you need to get to?”

Crowley let out a discontented noise.

“No, no, we're not giving her a lift. Out of the question.” He said.

Aziraphale glared at him.

“Crowley, this is the second person you have given a concussion today. I will not clean up another mess of yours. We are taking her home.”

Crowley groaned.

“But there's nowhere to put the bike.” He tried to object.

“Except for the back seat.” Aziraphale gnarled.

His sour expression was replaced by a kind smile as he turned back to Anathema.

“Do get in, my dear.” He said, holding open the door for her.

Crowley scoffed.

“So, where are we taking you?” He asked mocking the voice of a chauffeur, as he got back into the driver’s seat.

“Back to the village. I'll give you directions.” Anathema said.

She seemed a bit distracted. The speakers blared my chemical romances _Ambulance_ at an enormous volume.

_And if you save my life, I’ll be the one who drives you home tonight_

She was a bit confused by the whole situation. Also she had very little space to move.

“Listen, my bike is lying on top of me. I like my bike, but I don’t exactly like cuddling with it…Make a left.”

She pointed into a small street. Crowley threw Aziraphale a smart-alecky glace.

“ _But Crowley, you can just put the bike in the backseat_.” He mocked Aziraphale’s tone.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t really think this trough.” He admitted.

_And if I ever let you down, I’ll be the one who drives  
You home tonight, you home tonight, you home tonight_

Anathema examined the two of them and the way they fought. Something felt really strange about it. They dressed and behaved like people from totally different worlds. And all of it just gave her some really shady vibes. Why would these two be driving through the night together? She couldn’t think about it much longer, because they had already pulled into her street.

“Oh, you can drop me off here.” She said.

The man with the white curls helped her out of the car and handed her the bicycle.

“Oh, look, your bike. Glad we could take that with us, aren’t you? So you will not need to go back there tomorrow and get it.”

He said and smiled considerably in the other one’s direction. Anathema couldn't tell if they wanted to murder each other, someone else or just really needed to fucking kiss already.

“Your very dear velocipede.”

“Bicycle.” The other corrected him with a defeated sigh.

“Can we get on?”

He seemed pissed, as he had been the whole ride. His friend on the other hand seemed to only find his behaviour widely amusing, still smiling brightly.

“Get in, angel.” 

The other one slammed the door. The white-curls-one gave her another apologetic glace and hurried off.

Anathema smiled. _Angel_. So that was what the two of them had been up to. Seemed like she had been perfectly save after all.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the book missing from her basket, which was now safely lying on Crowley’s backseat.

*********

Anathema had had a lousy day so far. She didn’t exactly like getting hit by a car. Her head still felt swollen and there were some nasty bruises on her side. Last thing she needed were some hysterical family members. But the universe didn’t seem to like her. The ringing of her phone sounded through the silence and the baleful letters “Mom” flashed over the display.

She would decline. She really couldn’t deal with this right now. It would have to wait a few more days. But she couldn’t do it. No matter how much she hated the things her parents wanted to force her into, they still were her parents. She sighed and accepted the call.

“Hey Mom.” She said silently.

“Mi amor! Where are you? Are you okay?”

Her mother sounded really worried and Anathema felt a hint of guilt for treating her this way. She looked down on her ripped clothes.

“I’m fine.” She said.

“We were worried sick. What were you thinking?!”

Anathema endured the harangue washing over her. It didn’t really matter. Finally her mother calmed down a bit.

“Are you coming home?” She asked a bit quieter now.

Anathema hesitated.

“I’m sorry, mom. I just need a bit of time for myself.”

Her mother sighed.

“It’s okay, mi amor, I understand.”

Anathema’s heart ached. After all of this her mother was able to forgive her.

“Have you taken your medicine?”

Anathema rolled her eyes. It could be very nerve-racking with her mother constantly being so overbearing, but in this unfamiliar situation it also felt very comforting.

“Mom, I'm not a kid.” She sniffed.

Her mother let out another sigh.

“I know, Mi amor, I know.”

It felt like she wanted to say something else, but then she thought better of it.

“Just remember: If you don’t know where to go. The answers are always in the book. It's just sometimes you don't see them till afterwards.” She said.

Anathema wanted to feel angry about her mother bringing up that damned book again, but then realisation hit her. She looked around the kitchen in panic.

“The book.”

It wasn’t there, and neither was it in the basket of her bike.

“Holy shit, Mom. I'm going to have to call you back.” She said.

She stormed out of the door into the cold night, but, of course, the car with the strange couple had already disappeared. She sank to her knees. Tears rolled from her eyes. The cold wind bit trough her thin clothes. This really was a lousy day.

********

Said strange couple was sitting in a sandwich joint only few streets away. Aziraphale was enjoying a sandwich with huge amounts of mayonnaise, while Crowley was watching him with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

“Mm.”

Aziraphale took another bite and closed his eyes in indulgence. He gave Crowley a questioning look and offered him a slice as well.

“Don’t you want to eat something, Crowley?” He asked.

“Look at you, you’re already so skinny.”

“Ngk”

Crowley grimaced to hide his embarrassment. He tried not to think about how Aziraphale was concerned about his wellbeing. More than any other person probably. Was his life really this sad? Was he so starved for any kind of affection?

Aziraphale shrugged and took another bite.

“You know, we might get an outsider to find him.” He said.

“What?”

“There are people specialised at finding other people. They've been doing it for years. You know, it’s their profession. They might be able to find him. Or people, who know about the local buzz. Maybe he has already raised suspicions. Done something scandalous things, you know, being a famous musician.”

Crowley let out an unconvinced huff.

“He's the judge. He's got a popularity immunity…thingy. Accusations slide off him like...”

He gestured vaguely with his hands, searching for the right word.

“Whatever it is water slides off.” He finally said.

Aziraphale took another bite.

“Got any better ideas?” He asked.

“Or one. Single. Better. Idea?” He put emphasis on every single one of the words and enjoyed the annoyed glimmer in Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley growled, but didn’t object.

**********

Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Young were sitting in their bedroom. Mrs. Young had just come in from the bathroom and snuggled up to her husband, who was reading a book.

“I still don't know why you let him stay with us.” She said.

Arthur took off his reading glasses to look at her.

“Who? Adam? I mean Harriet asked me to.”

He sighed.

“And, oh, I don't know, the way that he was looking at me. As if he I was giving away a lonely puppy. He looked so sad and alone. I just couldn’t do it.”

Deidre smiled and edged a bit closer, putting her head in Arthur’s lap.

“Arthur, you are a softy sometimes.” She teased.

Arthur chuckled softly.

“I resent that remark.”

He absently stroked Deidre’s hair.

“Where's is he now?”

“Asleep in his room.” Arthur said, turning back to his page.

Deidre got up and sneaked through the hallway. The door to Adam’s room was closed. She silently opened it. Adam was fast asleep in his bed, soft snores coming from the layers of soft blankets. Deidre chuckled and closed the door again. She tiptoed back to her husband, finally pulling the warm covers over her bare feet.

“What was that about?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, just checking on Adam.” Deidre smiled.

“He's quite sweet, you know...when he's asleep.”

Arthur laughed.

“When he's asleep, yeah.”

*********

Aziraphale and Crowley were back in the Bentley. Crowley was driving Aziraphale home. And he didn't do that because he was concerned for Aziraphale's safety or being nice or anything. It was just that Aziraphale's just happened to be on the way back to Crowley's flat. Aziraphale, however, was fiddling nervously with his hands. Something was bugging him. Crowley could _feel_ it.

“Look, there's something I should tell you.” He eventually said.

“I have a ... contact to a highly trained journalist of a local paper. I used to get information on your lot’s mischiefs through him.”

He stopped and scanned Crowley’s features for any kind of reaction.

“Now, I could set them searching for the boy.” He suggested carefully.

“You do?” Crowley asked precariously.

“Uh, I actually--I actually have something similar. Contacts. Yeah.” He stuttered.

Of course he didn’t have any contacts. If he wanted to know what the Christians were up to he just needed to read the monthly church newsletter. Also you don’t really make that many acquaintances, if you were never leaving your flat. Aziraphale seemed to buy his racket, though.

He didn’t need to know that the truth was that Crowley’s was a miserable piece of shit. In fact, everyone except Aziraphale seemed to know that.

“Gosh, do you think they ought to work together?” Aziraphale asked, a bit worried.

Crowley tried to clear his dry throat.

“I don't think that's a very good idea.” He stuttered.

Was he being suspicious? He had to think of a good reason.

“My contact is not very…sophisticated, politically speaking.”

Yeah, that sounded great.

Aziraphale smiled turned into an agonized grimace.

“No, no, neither is mine.” He agreed.

“So we tell our respective operatives to look for the judge? Unless you have a better idea?”

He expectantly looked at Crowley.

He stayed silent for a while until he let out an excited scream.

“Ducks!”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows in bewilderment.

“What about ducks?” He asked.

“They're what water slides off.” Crowley said, grinning stupidly.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Just drive the car, please.”

*********

The Bentley stopped in front of Aziraphale’s parent’s house. Aziraphale was still trying to not throw up from Crowley’s reckless driving.

“You know, if you lined up everyone in the whole world and asked them to describe Bring me the horizon, nobody at all would say _bebop_.” Crowley there while argued.

He was giving Aziraphale a fond smile. ~~He thought it was adorable~~.

Aziraphale got out of his seat, his legs still a bit stiff. His eyes fell on the binding of a particular book laying on the backseat of Crowley’s car.

“Oh, there's a book back there.” He said.

“Well, it's not mine. I don't read books.”

Aziraphale frowned.

“It has to belong to the young lady you hit with your car.”

He gave Crowley another censorious glace at the mention of the incident. He collected the heavy object from the leather seats.

“You should give it back to her. You know where she lives.”

“I'm in enough trouble as it is. I'm not going to start returning lost property.” Crowley protested.

“Maybe she changed her mind and now wants to charge me with assault.”

He shook his head.

“Anyway, that's what your lot do. Why don't you just bring it to the Tadfield post office, addressed to _the mad American woman with the bicycle_? Or _probably the only punk in this rubbish place called Tadfield_?”

To his surprise Aziraphale didn’t shoot back a slick remark, but merely starred at the book in his hands. Suddenly he seemed to notice that Crowley was waiting for an answer and snapped out of his thoughts.

“Oh, uh...jolly good, yes. Rather.” He said, hurrying away and almost stumbling into their fence.

“Right, so we'll both contact our respective contacts, then?” Crowley called after him.

Aziraphale nodded furiously, while still backing away from him.

“All right.” He agreed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at his weird behaviour.

“Are you alright?” He asked. He felt a weird sensation tucking at his stomach. ~~He was slightly worried.~~ But then again Emo’s didn’t feel concern.

“Perfectly, yes. Uh, tip-top. Absolutely tickety-boo.” Aziraphale assured and promptly walked backwards into the door.

“Tickety-boo?” Crowley asked uncomprehendingly.

“Mind how you go!” Aziraphale said and fumbled with his keys.

He dropped them a few times before he could actually place them into the lock. Then he quickly vanished into the inside.

Crowley grunted. He would not think about this. It was Aziraphale’s right to keep things from him. He exhaled deeply and tried to shrug it off.

“Well, that was a thing.”

**********

One thing not many people knew about Aziraphale, was his obsession with fortune-telling. Crowley of course knew. He had gotten Aziraphale a book on palm reading for his birthday a few years ago. But not many other people knew about this weird hobby of his. (The experienced reader will recognise this as the mysterious hobby, mentioned earlier.)

Aziraphale was particularly proud of his collection on the topic. Collectibles, usually. And he loved every single one of them.

He had a magic eight ball that only showed the answer yes, he had a crystal ball that only glowed when placed next to a refrigerator, and, of course, he had books. Lots and lots of books. Baba Wanga had signed a book about her, _To myne olde friend Azerafel, with beste wishes._ He himself had spilled drink on his book about old prophecies, as he had read it so many times already. He had even gone to the fortune teller, who visited their town every year with the funfair, once. Although that didn’t turn out that well.

But there was one thing he didn't have. One book he had only heard of. The collection of Nice and Accurate lyrics of Agnes Nutter. So naturally, as he read exactly these words on the cover of the book in Crowley’s backseat, his brain went haywire.

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, he rushed up the stairs to his room. He was still very careful not to wake his parents. He wouldn’t want them asking questions about where he had been. Also his father was not of the patient sort, so he’d better not see him getting home this late.

So he quietly made himself a hot cocoa and settle in bed with his new treasure. Dignified he stroked the old binding. He opened the book at a random page. It smelled like old paper, one of Aziraphale’s favourites smells. His hands were trembling with excitement. He read.

_When that the believer readeth these words of mine,_

_in to very late evening time,_

_then the final days are certes upon us._

_Open thine eyes to the fuss._

_Open thine eyes and read,_

_I do say open, like you’re high on weed,_

_May I be so bold_

_for thy cocoa doth grow cold._

Aziraphale frowned.

“ _Thy cocoa doth grow cold?_ What cocoa....?”

His eyes fell on the mug next to his bed. He gasped. It really worked. In all this years of searching, finally he had found an answer to all his questions. Hope washed over him. He breathed heavily.

Then he turned another page, and another, and another, inhaling the words like some kind of drug. He just couldn’t stop. He had to know everything.

Suddenly his phone rang. Aziraphale snapped out of his trance.

It was morning already, the sun peeking through his closed curtains. Crowley’s named loomed on the display. Aziraphale accepted the call, while rubbing his eyes, which felt very dry from all the reading and the lack of sleep. He yawned.

“Any news?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked around in the mess that were his bedsheets. He hadn’t wasted a single thought on their little plan. He had been too consumed by the book.

“No. No news. Nothing. Nothing at all.” He stammered.

“If I had anything, I would tell you, obviously. Immediately.”

He hesitated.

“We're friends. Why would you even ask?”

“Oh, there's no news here either. Call me if you find anything.” Crowley said.

He was glad Aziraphale couldn’t see him through the telephone, because he was grinning like a crazy person. Aziraphale had called them friends.

“Absolutely. Why would you think I wouldn't?” Aziraphale laughed nervously and hung up.

Doubts lingered in the back of his mind. He had lied to Crowley. Crowley trusted him and he had violated that trust. They were friends. Aziraphale himself had said so. He banished the thought. He had more important things to focus on.  
  
 _Let him that hath understanding_

_count the number of the musically outstanding,_

_for it is the number of a family mix_

_And their number is six hundred threescore and six._

“It can't be that simple, can it?” Aziraphale mumbled.

He grabbed his phone again.

“I'd have to put the Tadfield area code first, of course.”

Tadfield, 0-4-6-triple-6. The phone rang a few times. Aziraphale’s heart was loudly beating in his chest. Then it clicked.

“Arthur Young here.” A man said.

There was also a distant sound of an electric guitar.

“Adam, please turn down your amp a bit!” A woman screamed over all the noise.

Aziraphale’s heart sank into his boots.

“Sorry, right number!” He cried and quickly cut the connection.

He started at his phone in shock. This was it. The judge really was here. He had found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this was chapter number two. More pining and for some reason I really vibe with punk Anathema.
> 
> I again would like to thank [Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake/pseuds/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake) for their help with the story. They gave me some incredible ideas when I didn’t know how to go on. You’re amazing. Thank you.
> 
> I’m really looking forward to the next chapter, because the scenes that describe their relationship throughout time are about to hit. Oh boy oh boy. So stay tuned.


	3. Hard Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: substance abuse, homophobia, depiction of violence

**The beginning, right after the concert, Aziraphale’s home**

Aziraphale was very cautious to not make a sound, as he closed their front door after him. It was the middle of the night. The bass of the music still reverberated in his ears and his lips tasted of the sweet drinks, he had been consuming. He was tired, still he felt weirdly contented. The house was silent, a harsh contrast to the hooting crowd at the youth centre. He sighed.

Suddenly the lights were flicked on. His father stood in the doorway, giving him a dissatisfied look. His brows were furrowed in anger and his eyes pierced through Aziraphale. Aziraphale cringed.

„Aziraphale.”

His father’s voice was low and menacing. Aziraphale gulped and avoided looking into his father’s eyes. He had clearly disappointed him.

“Yes, father?”

His father’s eyes wandered over Aziraphale’s hunched appearance. He frowned.

“Where is the guitar I gave you, Aziraphale? To play it that useless little band of yours?”

Aziraphale breath shook lightly. The guitar? Oh no he had forgotten about the guitar.

“Guitar? Right…Um…uh…wooden thing with strings. Yes”

He laughed nervously, still keeping his eyes glued to his fathers shoes.

“Uh. Oh, must have, uh…must have left it at the youth centre. Um…Forget my own head next.”

He laughed again.

“Oh dear.”

He was really bad at lying. He knew that. And he knew he should not lie to his father. This was wrong. He did wrong. But what was he supposed to say instead? The truth? His father would be furious. His stomach tightened unpleasantly. He felt a shiver running down his spine. He didn’t dare look up to find the anger carved into his father’s features.

They stayed in an uncomfortable silence for a while. Then his father spoke up.

“You better retrieve it by tomorrow then. Gabriel said this band thing is very important.”

Aziraphale nodded subserviently, maybe a bit too fast.

“Yes, father.” He said, and hurried to his room, before his father could change his mind.

**6th grade, First school week, History class**

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale flinched. He was snapped out of his bleak thoughts, by a boy casually leaning over his table. His flaming red hair was tied into a messy bun, crowned by his old fashioned sunglasses. A devilish smirk played on his lips.

“Anthony.”

Aziraphale recognised him as the boy he had been talking to a few months back at the band contest. Crowley, or Anthony, as he knew now, as he had learned that they would be sharing the same history class.

Crowley grinned. He was sitting on Aziraphale’s table, leaning very close, not caring about how this might look to any outsiders.

“So, giving that kid your guitar, how did that work out for you?”

Aziraphale felt really uncomfortable. He knew Crowley was doing this to tease him, to make him feel this way, but still he couldn’t help but fall right into the other’s trap. He cleared his throat and looked around nervously.

“My father has never actually mentioned it again. And my friend was kind enough to lend me one of his for the rehearsals.”

Crowley shrugged and picked a pen from Aziraphale’s pencil case. Aziraphale would have very much liked to slap it out of his hands, but he restrained himself. Even though Crowley was driving him mad with his behaviour, he couldn’t give in to the emo’s temptations.

“Probably a good thing.” Crowley agreed.

“What do you think about the class? Knights and crusades and all that shit? Aren’t your people a bit sensitive about the topic?”

Crowley’s talking felt a bit too casual for Aziraphale’s liking. Why was he even talking to him? Surely he would like to talk to his friends instead? Or was he just trying to make fun of him, to show everyone what a looser he really was. He started fiddling with the papers on his desk.

“From what I hear, it’s gets repressed a lot. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you would want to talk about. Wiping out the so many humans. But it was just a misconduct, after all. We’re different people now.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“A misconduct? This many people?”

Aziraphale was desperately hoping for the break to be over soon. He threw another look at the clock on the wall. He just hoped nobody would tell Gabriel or his father about this conversation. Even talking to Crowley was dangerously close to sinning.

“I mean it was just the locals. I don’t believe we ever killed any Chinese. Or Native Americans. Or Australians.”

He chuckled nervously. Crowley eyes were staring into his. It felt like they could see right through him. It was terrifying. Aziraphale averted his gaze.

“Ever heard about Christian fundamentalism? Not sure about the whole native American part.” Crowley said.

Aziraphale didn’t answer him, maybe because he didn’t know what to say. But Crowley gave him nothing to work with. The church had done so many good things. He could not only reduce them to all the horrifying things they had done.

“And we did not actually wipe out all the locals. I mean, the Christians there, their families, they were all allowed to join our community.”

Crowley snorted.

“How generous. But they slaughtered everybody else?”

Aziraphale nodded hesitantly.

“I mean think about the kids. You can’t kill kids. They killed kids. All of them.” Crowley said, taking another pen from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale swallowed his anger.

“Mm-hmmm.” He merely said.

“Well, that’s not the kind of thing you’d expect people, who constantly talk about kindness and altruism, to do.”

“Yes, but I am sure they had a really good reason for it. And after all we brought them the ways of our religion, so they would be able to join us in our ranks.”

Crowley let out a hallow laugh.

“How kind.” He said, his voice oozing with sarcasm.

That’s when Aziraphale finally snapped. He didn’t want to really. Gabriel always talked about, how he had to stay calm, even in the most difficult situations. But Crowley was just being…super annoying.

“You can’t judge us like this, Anthony. We work in the ways of god. We might not understand them, but we need to keep faith. God’s plans are…”

Crowley sighed.

“Are you going to say _Ineffable_?”

Aziraphale looked down, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Not only did he throw all of his manners over board, but also had he done the lousiest job at defending their believes.

“Possibly.” He admitted, quietly.

Luckily he was saved by the bell, which announced the following lesson. With a final smirk in his direction, Crowley strutted back to his desk. Aziraphale slapped himself internally for even talking to him.

**7 th Grade, November, Tadfield Church**

“Father, please.”

The boy was crying, as he was harshly shoved out of the front doors of the church. He landed on the hard pavement, his eyes watering with tears.

“You have to forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing.” He pleaded.

A small group had formed to watch the enfolding drama. The boy tried to grab Gabriel, who had kicked him outside, by the hem of his coat. He looked desperate. Gabriel slapped his hands away, a disgusted look on his face.

“You knew what you did. You have betrayed the lord, so you will no longer be welcome here.” He said, his face and voice absent of any compassion.

None of the spectators dared to speak up, as Sandalphon threw the remains of a bouquet of roses at the still weeping boy. He crawled around on his knees, trying to collect the remaining flowers from the dirty ground.

Aziraphale felt terrible. He just wanted Gabriel to stop this ferocity, but like everyone else, he didn’t find the courage.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?”

Suddenly Crowley was standing next to Aziraphale. Aziraphale nearly had a heart attack. Maybe that’s why he forgot, that he had actually sworn never to talk to Crowley again.

“Smirk, me?” He asked.

“Well, your certainly not helping him. And it is your lot that is humiliating him like that.”

Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale threw another worried look at the crying boy.

“I’m not meant to interfere, Anthony. He gets the punishment he…Gabriel seems fitting.”

His voice shook lightly. He carefully avoided the use of the word _deserved_. He was ashamed. He felt ashamed. But he didn’t know, whether it was because of the pathetic appearance of the boy, now curling up on the street, or the priest, turning his back on him.

But this was right, wasn’t it? The boy had sinned and he needed to pay for his crimes. That’s what a good obligee would do.

“Oh, I don’t use it anymore.”

Aziraphale’s thoughts were interrupted.

“Use what?” He asked, confused.

“My name. Anthony just wasn’t really doing it for me. My mother gave it to me and she can fucking sit on a tack.”

Aziraphale swallowed a lecturing comment about Crowley’s respect for his parents. He really felt he was in no position to judge over other people’s behaviour right now.

“So what is it now?” He asked instead.

“Something your lot approves of, I assume. Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?”

“Just Crowley‘s fine. I’ve always liked my last name somehow. Has something snake-ish to it.”

Aziraphale responded with a quiet humming. They stayed in silence for a while.

A boy, whom Aziraphale had seen in mass some time, walked up to the shivering figure on the ground and spat on him. Aziraphale’s heart ached. A small whimper escaped his lips. He tried to calm his breath.

“Did you, uh…ever meet him?” He stuttered.

A thoughtful look crossed over Crowley’s face. Aziraphale only perceived it from the corner of his eye, as he was still staring strictly ahead.

“Yes. Seemed a very bright young man.” He finally said, his vice wavering with some emotion Aziraphale could not exactly pinpoint.

Was it regret? Sympathy?

“I took him to a concert some time.”

Aziraphale eventually turned to look at Crowley. His flaming hair still shone so incredibly inimitable in the rays of the fading sun. For a moment, Aziraphale forgot to breath.

“Why?” He whispered.

Crowley shrugged.

“He was confused and needed help. I might be an arsehole, but I will never turn down anyone, who needs support.”

The sobbing of the boy echoed through the now empty street. It was cruel and horrible and sounded so much of despair. It broke Aziraphale’s heart. ~~All of this. It felt so wron~~ g.

“What was it he said that got everyone so upset?” Crowley asked.

“He said he had found true love. He said that all loves are equal and that he wanted to spend his life with the boy he loved.”

Aziraphale’s voice was trembling. He couldn’t help but see himself lying there on the pavement, with all the people laughing and kicking him. Everyone turning their backs on him. He was frightened. And although something might have resonated within him, while the boy had spoken his words, he decided, at that moment, that he would never give in to any of those ideas. He had to stay pure.

“Oh yeah. That’ll do it.” Crowley said, disgust oozing from his words.

He was disgusted by him. By the people who did this and the people, who had just stood there and tolerated it.

Aziraphale didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even look back, as he walked down the street towards his parent’s book shop. He didn’t dare, because he feared that they might see the compassion in his eyes. And he feared that he might give in to his soft nature. Because that was what he was. He was soft. He was pathetic and weak to even consider the verisimilitude of this blasphemy. So he walked away and he hated himself for doing so, even if it was the right thing to do.

And in the corner of his eye he saw Crowley with his beautiful hair walking up to the boy and pulling him into a soothing embrace.

**7 th grade, January, A bar**

“Give mee anoer one of whaever…this iz.” Crowley slurred.

He might have been a bit drunk. But he was also heartbroken, so that was alright. He was allowed to be totally wasted. If there ever was a time where he was allowed to be a total mess (except every other day) it was now.

His head rested on the cold wood of the bar and his throat felt sore from all the hard liquor he had been drinking. His lips tasted of cheap booze and salty tears, and if his tongue ran over them he could still feel Chris' soft lips on his. The way they perfectly fit together and… No he was not going there. He had been drinking to forget all of this, not to chase after these memories like a fucking pathetic kid, who was crying over his broken toy.

The bartender sat another glass in front of him, not paying any attention to Crowley’s wretched appearance.

“Home distilled booze. That’s two pounds.”

Crowley grabbed the remaining change from his pocket, while trying not to fall down from his stool. The room was swaying dangerously. He realised too late, that he didn’t actually have the money. Fuck. What should he do? Run away? And how should he even pay his fucking rent this month?

Well that was a question for another day, for another Crowley. For a sober Crowley preferably, if he ever was to be sober again that is.

“Sorry, only have one.” Crowley said and put the coin on the counter, already reaching for the drink.

“You’re not getting this without the money, mate.” The bartender said and took away the glass.

Crowley was about to throw some nasty comments at the man, when he was interrupted by another voice, right next to him.

“Anthony…Crowley?” Crowley turned.

It was Aziraphale. He would recognize these eyes anywhere. Fuck. Well, good fucking job at making the worst impression possible. But Aziraphale smiled, like seeing a totally wasted Crowley was actually the best thing that had happened to him so far.

This fucking smile. Why did he have to look so kind? So beautiful. You could think someone was beautiful without having a crush on them, right?

“Well…Fancy running into you here. Still an Emo, then?”

Crowley snorted.

“Wha kind o ztupid queztion izz dat, “ _Still an Emo_ ”? Whad else am I goana to be, an aardvark?” He slurred.

Surely this was just the alcohol and Crowley’s brain being totally useless again, but Aziraphale’s hair even more resembled the look of a halo to him this time. So soft. So curly. Fucking angel.

And he was making a total fool out of himself. Great fucking job.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously.

“What are you doing here then?” He asked.

Crowley averted his gaze and took another gulp from his drink.

“Jus drinking.” He said.

“You? Neva thought I’d ze you in a ba”

Aziraphale smiled, but in his eyes there was a trace of something else. Worry maybe?

“No you’re right. It’s not really…my scene.” He said and uncomfortable cleared his throat.

“I was on my way home from my parent’s bookshop and I saw you sitting here. I thought I’d say hello maybe.”

“I zought yu neva wanded to tallk to me again.”

Aziraphale sighed. He tried to look everywhere but Crowley’s eyes. And Crowley so desperately wanted to look at them. At the breath-taking blue and the oceans of emotions that lay beneath them, and that Aziraphale would never actually show.

“Yes, but then I saw how terrible you looked, and…I just wanted to check on you. See if you are all right.”

If Crowley’s heart hadn’t been broken, it would have overflown with emotions. Filled him up like water fills up a barrel after days of heavy rain. Like this it only made a sob escape his lips. Aziraphale flinched and patted his shoulder awkwardly.

“What happened?” He finally asked.

Crowley didn’t mean to tell him. He really didn’t. After all Aziraphale had made his opinion about people like him very clear. Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he just wanted for Aziraphale to give him the last push, to give him a reason to finally end his miserable existence.

“Ma boyfriend, Chris, he lef me.” He said, the tears finally running down his cheeks freely.

His body shook with anther sob. He expected Aziraphale to walk away or tell him how faulty he was. He didn’t expect the sadness and compassion he saw when he looked into in his eyes. It hit him with full force.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale whispered.

And then all of it came crashing down and Crowley couldn’t help but cry and sob and shiver and shout about the unfairness of the world. At some point he fell to the ground, just rocking back and forth, with his legs pulled to his body. He cried and screamed and the whole time Aziraphale was next to him.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t touch him, just sat there. And somehow that was the best thing he could have done. It was like a beacon through the darkness of Crowley’s thoughts. It kept him sane, not losing himself in all his fears and all his sorrow. In the end his sobs died down into a pathetic hiccup.

“You’re supposed to hate me. Remember?” He said, his eyes now rimmed red, from all the crying.

And Aziraphale nodded hesitantly, but his eyes said something different. He seemed torn, like he wasn’t actually yet sure himself, why exactly he was here. But he didn’t walk away like last time. Instead he offered Crowley his hand.

“Let’s get you home” He said and maybe Crowley’s heart felt a bit less shattered.

**8 th Grade, June, Tadfield Town square**

For all eternity there had been a statue of Thomas Jefferson in Tadfield’s town square. Nobody knew exactly why that was. They were not in America and neither did their town have any connection to Thomas Jefferson. But it had become quite the landmark for the region and many of the residents, especially the Christians, were rather proud of it. It was their duty to always keep the statue clean and shining.

But then a few years back, an unknown punk had started spraying insults on the bronze and blemishing Jefferson’s face. So the town people had to react and organised a weekly cleaning service for the president.

Aziraphale stood there with a bucket and a sponge in hand and looked at the gigantic genital on Jefferson’s forehead. And Aziraphale began scrubbing. Although it not being a very presently experience, it felt good to pay back to his town like that.

After hours of work the statue looked like new again. And it had already turned dark. The dim lanterns were the only source of light. A fresh breeze lay in the air. Aziraphale packed his things and was about to leave when he bumped into another person.

“Oh, Right. Excuse me. Um…hello.” He said.

The person in front of him wore all black and was carrying a bag that suspiciously looked like it contained some spraying equipment. They had a hood over their head, so Aziraphale was not able to see their face. But he understood.

“So you have been spraying rude notes on Sir Jefferson this whole time?” He asked incensed.

“Please be assured that I will call the police.”

The person in front of him didn’t move. And they didn’t feel particularly dangerous. Aziraphale tried to peek under the fabric of the hood. There was a quick harrumph then a deep, probably misaligned voice answered.

“You have sought the Black artist, foolish one. But you have found your death.”

It didn’t sound really convincing. Aziraphale frowned.

“Is that you under there, Anthony?” He asked.

The person opposite of him let out a defeated sigh and pulled down their hood. The first thing Aziraphale noticed was the flaming red hair.

“Crowley.” Crowley corrected.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“What the hell are you playing at?” He hissed and leaned closer.

He looked around nervously. No one had noticed them so far. The street was still empty.

“Going out for a walk in my favourite black Hoodie. What do you think? Spraying dicks on Mr Jefferson over there of course.”

Aziraphale cursed.

“Yeah, I know that, clearly. I mean, why are you doing that?”

Crowley smirked. Oh Aziraphale hated that smirk. It made ~~his stomach twist in a really weird way~~ , him furious.

“I mean he was a real dick with all the slaves and stuff. I think he deserves it. Your lot’s been giving him too much care and attention, so I’m here, you know, fomenting.”

Aziraphale was surprised, Crowley even knew what that word meant.

“Well, I’m meant to be keeping Mr Jefferson from presenting anymore genitals.” He said and raised the sponge in his hand.

“So we’re both working very hard and just cancelling each other out?” Crowley asked.

“Well, you could put it like that. Although I’m not certain about you working very hard.”

Crowley laughed. ~~It was a nice laugh~~. It drove Aziraphale insane and he would have liked to place the dripping sponge, with the traces of his painted genitals on it, in Crowley’s face.

“Be easier if we both stayed home. If we just tell our bosses we’d done everything they’d asked for, wouldn’t it?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale thought about it. On first sight it actually made daunting much sense, but then again Crowley was surely just trying for him to abandon his duties.

“But that would be lying.” He said, very slowly.

Crowley shrugged.

“Don’t like the lying bit that much. Rather just call it bending the truth a bit. And, after all, who cares? The end result would be the same. You know, cancel each other out.”

He grinned, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Aziraphale felt a bit dizzy. He really wanted to just shove Crowley’s suggestions away, but he couldn’t help for the idea, of an afternoon off, to sound really promising.

“But…well, they’d check. Michael’s a…bit of a stickler. And you’d don’t want to get Gabriel upset with you.” He said, thinking of the last time one of his fellow students had forgotten about a task.

Gabriel had been furious. The poor boy was forced to clean the organ pipes for three month.

“Oh, they have better things to do than verifying ever task we’ve done. As long as the statue is clean or dirty they seem happy enough. As long as you’re being seen to be doing something every now and again…”

Aziraphale frowned. It did make sense. If Crowley just stopped spraying the statue, he would not have to clean it. He could spend the time practicing his new guitar, instead of standing outside in the cold. But would Crowley really stop spraying the statue? Maybe he just wanted Aziraphale to believe this, so he could humiliate him in front of his people. He shook his head violently.

“No! Absolutely not! I am shocked that you would even imply such a thing.” He cried.

“We’re not having this conversation. Not another word.”

He turned around and stomped off. Crowley was his enemy. He had to remember this. He was being stupid.

And really, he didn’t turn around by the end of the street to look back at the lonely figure of Crowley, standing in the light of the street lamps. And really, he didn’t notice how his hair still flamed like anything and how he looked so lost and alone in the approaching darkness.

**8 th Grade, Christmas, The school theatre**

“To be or not to be, that is the question! Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind.”

The lights were dim. There was a slight murmur among the spectators, probably because the performed version of Shakespeare’s Hamlet was not really up to professional standards. The seat next to Aziraphale shifted.

“I thought you said we’d be alone here.” Crowley whispered.

He leaned closer to Aziraphale so they would not disturb the play.

“I didn’t say alone. I said inconspicuous. Blend in among the crowds.” Aziraphale hissed back.

They didn’t look at each other. They pretended to watch the play. It wasn’t that hard for Crowley. He liked Shakespeare’s plays, especially Hamlet. Nobody would actually believe him, if he said that, but maybe it was best for his image.

“This is one of Shakespeare’s best. Why’s nobody here.” He asked.

He could see the silhouette of Aziraphale’s torso moving in tact with his breathing.

“I assume it is because of that young Hamlet, who thinks he is quite the superstar.” Aziraphale joked.

They both snickered. Said young Hamlet was standing on stage, giving the most over the top performance Crowley had ever seen.

It was their schools theatre’s Christmas performance. They would present their progress and collect donations for some noble cause.

A girl moved past their row and offered them warm pretzels. Aziraphale bought one for himself. ~~Crowley loved to watch the happy smile that crept on his face.~~

“And what does your friend want?” The girl asked and gave Crowley and annoyed look.

She obviously hated her job.

“Oh he’s not my friend. We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other.” Aziraphale stuttered, maybe a bit too fast.

It hurt. It shouldn’t have hurt, after all it was for the best if no one knew that they had been meeting, but still Crowley wished Aziraphale would somehow acknowledge their relationship. Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but maybe something close to it?

The girl only seemed mildly annoyed by Aziraphale’s outburst. So Crowley shook his head.

“No thanks.”

“To be or not to be. That is the question.” The terrible Hamlet repeated his line.

“To be! I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!” Aziraphale murmured.

It was ~~adorable~~ , embarrassing. Crowley really hoped Shakespeare wouldn’t be mad about Aziraphale’s ignorance towards his plays. Aziraphale put another piece of pretzel into his mouth, his eyes still glued to the stage, so Crowley was able to examine his features. A soft curl fell into his eyes. ~~Crowley wanted to tuck it behind his ear~~. He was also wearing a terrible Christmas jumper.

After finishing the pretzel Aziraphale turned back to him. Crowley quickly looked away.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked.

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly be wanting something?” Crowley said, mocking an offended tone.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes.

“You are up to no good.”

Crowley laughed. It felt relieving. It felt natural.

“Obviously. You’re up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds.”

Aziraphale shrugged.

“No rest for the…well, good. I have to be with my grandparents by the end of the week.”

“Oh.”

Somehow their little Smalltalk felt weird. They knew each other pretty well by now. But going from completely ignoring each other in the presence of their people to casually talking about their weekends when they were alone, was something Crowley had to get used to.

“Cleaning their kitchen. Getting some groceries. Apparently, I have to tidy up their garden. You know all the Christmas stuff. Their too old to do it on their own.”

“ I’m meant to be doing some imposition this weekend. Writing an essay about sense of responsibility for damaging some black boards.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

“Well, you did kind of deserve that. I mean I understand Mrs. Winter can be a bit difficult sometimes, but that really was a bit of an overshoot.”

Aziraphale talking so openly about things he disliked made Crowley’s heart beat a bit faster.

“Thing is: I have tickets for that metal festival in Edinburgh this weekend.”

He cleared his throat. God why had that sounded so much easier in his head? And why did Aziraphale have to look at him like that?

“And…that’s why I thought you could…Well, help me out a bit?”

He held his breath. Aziraphale frowned.

“You cannot actually be suggesting…what I infer…you are implying?”

“Which is?”

“That I do the essay for you, while you go on your little trip to Edinburgh.”

“I mean I would own you one. Big time.” Crowley argued.

“We’ve done it before. Dozens of times now. _The arrangement_ …”

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale hissed.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes were darting around the room, but nobody was watching them.

“Our head master doesn’t actually care how these things get done. He just wants to know he can cross it off the list. I mean, he doesn’t actually think this is going to change anything, so…” Crowley trailed off.

Aziraphale had completely forgotten about the play now. He was wrenching his hands in his lap.

“But if they find out, they won’t just be angry, They’ll kick you out of school. You’ve already had your first offence”

Crowley rolled his eyes. ~~It felt so nice to know that Aziraphale actually cared about him~~. It was annoying that Aziraphale was so stubborn when it came to rules.

“Nobody ever has to know.” He said and gave Aziraphale his best impression of puppy’s eyes.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Fine. But you owe me big.”

Crowley smiled and nodded. Aziraphale turned back to the stage. Hamlet was now lying on the floor and crying (no that really wasn’t why Crowley liked the play so much). It looked hilarious rather than heart-breaking.

“It’s a shame really that he is so bad. They are doing this for a good cause after all.” Aziraphale said.

“It’d take a whole lot of work to get anyone to come and see the second performance next Wednesday.”

Then he realised what he had just said. A smile played on his lips and he gave Crowley a suggestive look. Crowley groaned.

“Yes, alright. I’ll do that one. My treat.” He said.

Aziraphale responded with an even wider smile.

“Oh, really?”

He looked so happy. Happy just for these people and their shitty little play. How could anyone be this kind? ~~Crowley’s heart felt like it was about to explode~~.

“I’d still prefer if he didn’t destroy Shakespeare’s legacy.” He grunted. 

**9th Grade, April, An alleyway**

“Please, you are making a terrible mistake.” Aziraphale said, the wall already in his back.

The guy in front of him chuckled dangerously and swung his bat.

“Listen to that.”

Aziraphale listened. He could hear a police siren fast approaching. Also he heard a lot of screaming, smashing and clattering.

“Is it not terrible?” The guy asked, a dreamy expression on his face. Aziraphale nodded.

“Yes. Yes, hitting innocent people with bats. Terrible.” He agreed.

He tried to keep his legs from shaking, but the guy moved even closer.

“That’s Pierre. He’s an amateur. You are lucky that it is I, Jean-Claude, who has finally cornered you.”

Aziraphale didn’t exactly feel relieved or grateful. He’d rather just not been cornered at all. But he wasn’t able to say that, because his head was full on in panic mode.

“Look, this is all a terrible mistake. I don’t think you understand…” He tried to explain, his voice trembling.

“I have good news for you. You are the 999th snob to make acquaintance with the sweet wood of my Amanda.”

He tenderly stroked his baseball bat. If he hadn’t been so frightened, maybe Aziraphale would have thought all of this a very funny joke.

“Please. No. Dreadful mistake. You can’t just go around beating people.” Aziraphale said.

Anger was rushing through his veins. This wasn’t fair. Maybe with this boost of energy he would be able to run away? But the guy was blocking his only way out. And he had massive shoulders. Aziraphale doubted that he would have a chance. How would he explain all of this to his father?

“Animals.” He cursed.

The guy lifted his baseball bat and Aziraphale prepared for the impacted. He squinted his eyes and tried to make himself as small as possible. Nothing happened. There was a low thud.

“Animals don’t kill each other with baseball bats, angle. Only humans do that.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes. The guy was now on the ground, unconscious. His bat was pressed closely to his chest. And behind him, in the entrance to the blind alley, stood a familiar figure. A figure with very red hair.

“Crowley. Oh, good lord.” Aziraphale cried.

He had never felt such relief. His heart was beating heavily against his ribcage. Crowley chuckled softly. ~~He looked really heroic with another baseball bat placed over his shoulders.~~ He offered Aziraphale a hand and brought him back to his feet.

“What the fuck are you doing here in all this mess? I thought you were working in the book shop.” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale dusted off his jacket. He didn’t dare look at Crowley. His cheeks were still burning red.

“Well, I was. I got peckish.” He admitted.

“Peckish?” Crowley asked.

His eyes were again hidden behind sunglasses, but Aziraphale could still see the amusement on his face.

“Well, if you must know, it was the crepes. I smelled them all the way from here to the book shop. I got a real craving.”

“So you just popped into the funfair during an ongoing street fight, because you wanted something to nibble?” Crowley asked, holding back a laugh.

Aziraphale wanted to be angry, but he could not help for a small smile to creep on his face.

“I’d heard they were getting a bit carried away over here but…”

“Yeah, this is not getting carried away. This is beating up a lot of people for no reason, just because they happened to be in town.”

He frowned.

“Well, you’re lucky I was in the area.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“I suppose I am. Why are you here?”

“Ah you know, just wanted to pop by. See the spectacle up front.”

Crowley chuckled. Aziraphale halted.

“So all of this is your demonic work?” He asked indignantly.

He felt a bit stupid for directly walking into one of Crowley’s traps and needing to be rescued by him. Why did Crowley safe him anyway then? Was this all part of a greater scheme?

But Crowley shook his head.

“No. Those hooligans thought it up themselves. Nothing to do with me.” He said.

Maybe Aziraphale felt a bit relieved. He looked down at his shoes, blushing again.

“Well, I suppose I should say thank you for the, uh, rescue.” He said.

Crowley snorted.

“Don’t say that. If my people hear I rescued one of you, I’ll be the one in trouble.”

It was just a silly remark, but suddenly Aziraphale realised what Crowley had been risking all this time. Of course Aziraphale’s people didn’t like him spending time with Crowley. But if they found out they would just tell him off. Crowley’s people on the other hand were another calibre. They were already famous for doing bad things. What would they do to Crowley, if they ever found out?

Aziraphale felt a sudden cold, gripping his stomach. He would have to be more careful from now on.

“Well, anyway, I’m very grateful.” He said.

And then more shyly: “What about if I buy you lunch?”

Crowley frowned.

“Anything specific in mind?” He asked.

Aziraphale responded with a smile.

“What would you say to some crepes?”

**9 th Grade, August, The park**

“Look, I’ve been thinking. What if it all goes wrong?”

Crowley was staring at the duck in front of him. It was better than looking at Aziraphale. Ducks were very calming. Maybe he should get a therapeutic duck as a pet.

“We have a lot in common, you and me.”

He could feel Aziraphale’s hesitation.

“I don’t know. We may have both started off as human babies, but you fell in disfavour of society.”

It tasted bitter, Aziraphale talking about him like that. Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t really fall. I just, you know…, sauntered vaguely downwards.” He murmured and finally sighed.

There was no way around this. He needed to ask the looming question.

“I need a favour.”

“We already have _the agreement_ , Crowley. Stay out of each other’s way. Lend a hand when needed.”

Crowley shifted nervously. Why was this so hard? Aziraphale was his friend, right? They trusted each other, well, kind of trusted each other.

“This is something else, for if it all goes pear-shaped.” He said.

“I hate pears.”

Crowley watched the duck as it tried to eat his shoe lace. Maybe he should be a duck. Everything would be easier as a duck.

“If it all goes wrong, I want insurance.”

Aziraphale finally turned to look at him. And, oh, there were his eyes.

“What?”

“I wrote it down.”

Crowley pulled a small paper from his pockets. His hands were trembling a bit. He handed it to Aziraphale, who accepted it with a confused look.

“Walls have ears. Well, not walls. Trees have ears. Ducks have ears. Do ducks have ears? Must do. That’s how they hear other ducks.”

Fuck he was rambling again. He was a complete mess. Nervously he watched, while Aziraphale read his note.

“Is this a joke?”

“No”

“Out of the question.”

“Why not?”

“It is ridiculous. I’m not going shopping for you, Crowley. And I’m not making a fool out of myself.”

He tried to shove the paper back into Crowley’s hands, but Crowley refused to take it back.

“It’s insurance.” He insisted.

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley. You are nearly an adult, you live alone for Christ’s sake, you can buy your drugstore items yourself. And I’m certainly not asking Gabriel about this. Do you know what trouble I’d been in if…if they knew I’d been fraternising? It is completely out of the question.”

Something in Crowley shattered.

“Fraternising?” He asked.

So it was true after all. Their friendship meant nothing to Aziraphale. He was only doing this for the benefits. He couldn’t blame him. Who would want to be friends with him after all?

“Well, whatever you wish to call it.” Aziraphale dismissed it.

“I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

Crowley eyes felt sore. This was ridiculous. He would certainly not start crying about something like this. What was he even thinking? Of course this couldn’t hurt him, because he had been meeting with Aziraphale for the same selfish reasons, Aziraphale surely had. Right, this was only a businesswise relationship.

“I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angle.” He spit.

 ~~That was a lie, obviously.~~ ~~He didn’t have any other close friends in his pathetic existence. Non that mattered like Aziraphale.~~ Was he only imagining this or had a hurt expression crossed over Aziraphale’s face?

“Well of course you do.” Aziraphale said, with a stern face.

He stood up and was about to leave.

“I don’t need you.” Crowley screamed.

He didn’t mean to, but somehow he was hoping Aziraphale would come back and tell him otherwise. Fight for their friendship. Tell him he mattered.

Instead Aziraphale gasped. ~~Fuck, what had he done.~~ ~~He didn’t mean to hurt him like this.~~

“Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously!”

He stormed off, throwing Crowley’s note on the ground where it was eaten by one of the ducks. And for the first time in months, Crowley felt truly alone.

**10 th Grade, March, An alleyway (again)**

Sometimes Aziraphale wondered how humanity could be so cruel. What was it that made people hate all the people that were different to them? Wasn’t it enough to share the experience of living on this gorgeous planet to show kindness and affection for each other?

Aziraphale never had been the most popular boy at school. Sure, he had some friends he knew from church, but those never were relationships he would call very meaningful. The meaningful connections he had with his books. ~~And Crowley~~.

He loves to read, investing himself into the characters and the story, maybe also escaping his boring life. He would hide behind a book cover in every possible situation. The only problem was, that this did not really improve his reputation with the other kids. He was the weird guy. The guy that only hung around with the other weirds guys from church. ~~Crowley didn’t seem to mind though~~. Most of the time he tried to stay inconspicuous, keep his head down. But then there were the times, where people were just looking for trouble and maybe a fitting victim. And that were the times Aziraphale wished he liked football instead.

The guy in front of him was smirking, his two, equally muscular friends, following closely after. Aziraphale protectively wrapped his arms around the pile of books. Maybe he would be able to at least safe them. They had already snagged his bag pack from his shoulders, and one of the guys was examining his homework and laughing gleefully.

“You have been exceedingly helpful, Mr Fell.” He sneered.

He scrumpled up the paper and stomped on it. The only thing remaining were muddy shreds of paper. Aziraphale winced.

“Such a pity we must take such drastic matters, but take heart, it has to happen to someone“

His buddy grinned maliciously as he cracked his knuckles. Aziraphale gulped.

“That’s not very sporting.” He suggested.

He had spotted a girl walking toward their group. He just had to stall some time. Help was coming.

“But I’m afraid I will have to decline.” He said.

“I’m afraid we now have company and maybe the young lady would like to call the police about an ongoing assault.”

Now it was his time to smirk. The girl was still coming directly at them. Apparently she had already seen them. Hopefully that would be enough to scare the others away.

“Yes, about that…”

The guy in front smiled. He wore a tight muscle shirt. The kind that looked like it was way too small for his massive body. ~~Not like Crowley’s clothes, which always fitted him perfectly.~~

“Allow me to introduce Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt. She is my girlfriend.”

The girl gave Aziraphale a small wink and leaned over to give her boyfriends a kiss. She was noticeably chewing on some gum and her pants were way too short to not be flagitious. Gabriel would have been appalled. They finally broke apart after a few minutes. The guy threw his arm around the girl’s shoulder.

Aziraphale felt all his confidence leaving him. And then the panic started to set it. He would die right here and right now, he was sure of it.

“Now where were we? Oh yes, beating you up.”

Aziraphale didn’t expect the first punch. It hit the side of his head and he fell to his knees, the books tumbling from his hands. As he curled into a ball on the cold pavement, he really wished for a person with flaming red hair to appear in the entrance to the alleyway, like so many month ago.

But he had hurt Crowley. He knew that he would never forgive him. And maybe that hurt even more than the kicks against his ribs. Or maybe just in a different way. And then tears started to spill from his eyes and he accepted the beating as god’s punishment for his stupid behaviour.

“Sorry, I’m late for the party.”

The kicks stopped. Aziraphale couldn’t move. Everything hurt. He was cold. There was a ringing in his ears. But he noticed one thing. Red. His heart skipped a beat.

“What are you doing here?” He whispered, trying to find the strength to get back up.

“Stopping you getting into trouble.”

A sudden warmth spread through Aziraphale’s body. Everything hurt a little less. Then it stopped. His head flopped back to the ground.

“I should have known. Of course. These people are working for you.”

“No. they’re a bunch of half-witted arseholes running around Tadfield, beating up people. I just didn’t want to see you in the hospital.”

There it was again. Aziraphale couldn’t exactly pinpoint the feeling. But it felt good. It felt warm and familiar.

“Mr Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you.” The girlfriend said.

Aziraphale tried to get back up, but one of the guys put his foot on his back, so he was only able to stay down in the dirt.

“The famous Mr Crowley? That’s such a pity you must both be destroyed.” He said.

“What does the J stand for?” Aziraphale whispered.

He felt a bit dizzy, like he was close to entering a state of shock. Maybe he already had. He wouldn’t put it past him. His swollen face and side hurt

“Janthony.” Crowley said, like it was the most normal thing to say. Or maybe Aziraphale was hallucinating.

“Enough babbling. Let’s get to the beating part again.” The guy interrupted their weird chat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Crowley said.

Aziraphale could feel the guy above him hesitate.

“And why not?” He finally asked, licking his lips nervously.

“In about a minute, a police patrol will drive right past this alley way. If you all run away very, very fast, you might not be arrested.”

Aziraphale couldn’t tell if Crowley was bluffing, especially not in his current state. But he felt weirdly proud of the Emo. He had come to help Aziraphale, even though he certainly didn’t deserve it.

“You expect us to believe that? The patrols tonight will be on the East End of the city.” The guy said, although sounding a bit uncertain.

Crowley smirked.

“Yes. It would take a last-minute disturbance to lure them here, yes. An exploding garbage container maybe? You’re all wasting your valuable running-away time.”

“But you are Anthony J. Crowley. You would never set the police on your own tracks. They would arrest you for setting fire to that container.”

Crowley threw a sad smile in Aziraphale’s direction. It was so short, that he barely notice it, but it made Aziraphale’s stomach twist with guilt.

“Yes they would.” Crowley said.

A siren sounded in the distance. Despair boiled up in Aziraphale.

“Crowley, no” He croaked out.

But it was too late. People started flooding into the alley. Aziraphale didn’t really realise the guy over him running away in panic and being captured by a police officer. He only saw the woman pressing Crowley against the cold brick wall and the cuffs on his hands. And the whole time Crowley’s eyes were on Aziraphale and a hint of a smile lay on his lips.

Then they hauled him away towards one of the police cars. Someone walked up to Aziraphale. Asked him, if he was okay, handed him a blanket. But he could only think of these eyes. C

rowley had rescued him. More so, he had sacrificed himself.

His pain was only a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He shook off all the concerned people, gathering around him, and walked towards the cars. Crowley was sitting in the back of one, his hands tied. The police officer, who had arrested him, was busy dealing with one of the other guys.

“That was very kind of you.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned. Without his sunglasses it looked so much more genuine. Aziraphale could see the wrinkles around his eyes. ~~It looked beautiful.~~

“Shut up. I’m trying to maintain an image here.” Crowley said, but he was still grinning.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Well, it was. I’m still alive, for a start. And the books.”

It hit him. In all his worries he had totally forgotten about his stack of precious books.

“Oh, the books. Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be stomped to…”

He didn’t get any further. Crowley turned around and picked up something from the backseat beside him. The books.

“Couldn’t have them destroyed, could we?” He said.

Something changed in Aziraphale. The way Crowley looked at him in these flashing emergency lights. The way that their hands brushed slightly as Crowley handed him the books with some wrenching of his arms. The way his eyes twinkled with amusement and affection.

He _knew_ something had changed. He would understand it one day. What all of this meant. But maybe it wasn’t yet his time to do so. So he just watched stunned, as the lady from the police closed the door and the car, with Anthony J. Crowley in it, drove away.

**10 th Grade, July, The playground**

The one thing you need to know about Emos is that they don’t like showering. It destroys their hard-earned grease. And for some reason, Emos really love greasy hair. Some people even go so far as to say, that the cover of Queen’s “Under pressure” by My chemical romance and The Used is one of the greasiest songs to ever be performed on a stage. That’s why most Emos considered shampoo their arch nemesis.

Of course Crowley had given up on this stupid idea many years ago. He liked his hair, better, when he had to use actual gel for it to stick up from his head. Still he would have never dared to be seen buying shampoo. What a humiliation that would be. His landlady was kind enough to bring him some from time to time.

Keeping this in my, if we rewind to the occurrences a few month back, the first thing that came to Crowley mind as so called “Insurance”, happened to be the most effective weapon against an emo offence: Shampoo. Gabriel’s shampoo, to be precise. Gabriel’s shampoo had a reputation among the Emos, of being the most disgusting smelling and most effective grease remover shampoo. It was all rather logical.

Aziraphale however didn’t know this. The only thing he saw, was Crowley asking him to buy shampoo for him, because he was being a child and would not buy it himself, to not ruin his silly reputation. Maybe he also wondered for how long exactly Crowley hadn’t showered (the smell had to be much worse right?). Later of course he wondered why Crowley would ask him such a thing, and if maybe it had been more important than he had originally thought. (Then he started googling about the lack of interest in personal hygiene and found it to be a symptom of depression. Which then let him being convinced about the whole thing being a desperate call for help on Crowley’s side. This then led to several sleepless nights. Until he finally couldn’t stand it anymore and gave in to some really stupid ideas. But more on that later.)

Crowley on the other hand had long lost hope, that Aziraphale would help him with his problem. So he did the most logical thing: He planned a break in into Gabriel’s chambers at the church to retrieve the shampoo himself. And of course he did this with the most appropriate gang currently available: Kindergarteners.

“So, Spike, you’re the distraction, you’ll be luring Gabriel away from his chambers.”

Spike was chewing away on a lollipop, which was the only way Crowley was able keep their attention on him.

“And she’ll be going in there then?” Spike asked and pointed at a girl, which had been staring blankly into the sky the whole time.

Another boy strode over to them. Crowley hated himself for having the brilliant idea of meeting on the playground. There were so many distractions.

“Hang on.” He said and turned around.

“Who are you?”

The boy had his hands in his pockets and was jealously staring at the sweets in the other children’s hands.

“I understand you need someone to pick a lock for you.” He said.

Still he stayed where he was, in safe distance.

“I was expecting Tom.”

“Well, Tom’s passed on to his reward. He moved to London a few weeks back. He is my brother. He taught me everything he knew. My name’s Mark.”

God, for his age the child really knew how to bargain. Crowley raised an eyebrow and offered another lollipop.

“Pease, sit down, Mark.”

The boy hesitated, but his eyes were glued to the sweet. Finally he grabbed it out of Crowley’s hands and sat down in the grass next to them.

“So, what’s so valuable that they’re going to store it in a church?” The girl asked, while plugging huge amounts of grass with her right hand.

“We’ll go over the details of what you’re obtaining for me when we get there. You will all be very well compensated.”

Crowley showed them a bag, which he has completely stuffed with various sweets, as evidence. The eyes of the kids widened.

“You have a question Mark?”

The kid lowered his hand.

“Stealing from a church. Can we kick Gabriel’s arse?”

Crowley laughed. He admired the kid’s courage.

“No. Completely arse-kicking-free robbery, I’m afraid.” He said.

Mark tilted his head.

“Mm. Pity.”

“Any other questions?”

Spike raised his hand.

“What are we getting paid?” He had started chewing on his second lollipop.

Crowley grinned.

“One bag now, another one when the job is done. One more to keep schtum.”

The kids seemed satisfied.

************

“Gabriel?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. Gabriel turned to give him his standard bright smile. Sometimes Aziraphale wondered if it was carved into his face.

“Aziraphale, what can I do for you?” He asked.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. He had the conversation planned out in his head so many times beforehand, but now that he actually had to go through with it, it still felt like a really stupid idea.

“I was hoping to talk to you on a…, well, more private matter?”

Gabriel laughed. Why did it always sound so loud and over the top? He patted Aziraphale’s back.

“Of course Aziraphale. You know I’m always there for people who need my help.”

 ~~Except for when you kick them out of the community for violating outdated rules.~~ Aziraphale forced a smile on his lips as well.

“Well, this might sound a bit silly, but I was wondering…if you could tell me…what shampoo you are using…?”

His voice was much too squeaky and his cheeks were burning hot. A look of confusion crossed over Gabriel’s face. Then he let out an irritated chuckle. Aziraphale would have liked to sink trough the ground right into hell. Even torture sounded more appealing than this.

“My shampoo? What on earth would you need that for?”

Aziraphale bit his lip.

“It just smells very nice and I was thinking…” He trailed off, keeping his eyes on his shoes.

What was he doing? This was a stupid idea. Gabriel pursed his lips.

“Aziraphale…I…”

He sighed and sat down on the bench next to them.

“Okay here comes the talk.”

He folded his hands in his lap. Then he chuckled again, shaking his head.

“You’re going through a phase were you might be experiencing some unnatural feelings…”

“No!” Aziraphale cried.

His whole face was burning.

“I…It…it’s not like that.”

Gabriel shushed him with a gesture of his hands.

“Let me finish, please.”

Aziraphale didn’t dare to object.

“Your body is going through some changes… and there might be things that are different to the way that they used to be.”

He paused.

“But I want you to know one thing: Whatever you think you are experiencing. It is not like that. This is just your body affecting your rational thinking. And look at me.”

Aziraphale had rather not looked at Gabriel. But he had no other choice. He looked into his stern and stone cold eyes and he shivered.

“I want you to know that this will pass. And you have to never, never ever give in to it. You understand?”

Aziraphale averted his eyes as soon as possible. He nodded quickly.

“I understand.” He whispered.

The smile was back on Gabriel’s lips like the callous version, Aziraphale had seen merely seconds ago, had just been some kind of feverish dream.

“But I must still say I feel flattered, so I will help you out. You know, from man to man.” Gabriel said and stood back up.

“Follow me.”

So Aziraphale followed him, his legs still wobbly and a mess of thoughts in his head, that he could never actually be able to make sense of.

**************

“Mr Crowley?”

Crowley turned around. The deceitful kid had followed him all the way to his car.

“Yes…Mark. What can I do for you?”

The kid smirked.

“Well, I’ve heard you have quite the dispute going on with our local church community.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, it might seem so.” He said, and leaned against his car.

“I want you to know that my Grandfather works for a very specific paper. There are specialised on the misdeeds of teenagers.”

Crowley had never met a child, who even knew of the existence of the word misdeeds. There must be a first time for everything. A smile played on his lips. He liked the kid.

“And?”

“Well, you never know when a gentleman such as yourself might have need of such an organisation. A man with so many edibles to throw around.” Mark suggested, grinning widely.

“I don’t really think Christians are people to ever do any…misdeeds. That’s more my area.” Crowley said.

Mark shrugged and put the lollipop back into his mouth.

“Think it over. You know where to find me.” He said and walked away.

Crowley, still a smirk on his face, opened the door to his car and plopped into the driver’s seat. He nearly had a heart attack, when he realised, that someone was already sitting next to him. Someone with very soft, white, curly hair.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

A familiar feeling started blooming in his chest. Aziraphale looked down.

“I needed a word with you.”

Crowley had to remember that they were technically still on bad terms, ~~because actually he just wanted to throw himself at Aziraphale, glad to finally see him again~~.

“What?” He said, putting as much distance as possible in his words.

Aziraphale sighed.

“It’s a small town, Crowley. I hear things. I hear that you’re setting up a…caper to rob our church.”

Crowley was about to ask Aziraphale, why he even still fucking cared about it, but he didn’t get the chance to do so. Aziraphale finally looked up and their eyes locked. Crowley was stunned.

“Crowley, it’s too dangerous. You already have a criminal record. This time they would go through with prosecution.”

His voice sounded pleading and Crowley could read the worry in his eyes. He could not stand it. It was his time to look down.

“You told me what you think last year.” He huffed.

“And I haven’t changed my mind. But I can’t have you risking your future.”

Aziraphale exhaled deeply and pulled something from his pocket. Crowley stopped breathing.

“So…you can call off the robbery. And don’t go using it up all at once.”

His voice was trembling. So where his fingers, that were offering Crowley the bottle of shampoo. Crowley gulped. Suddenly his throat felt really tight.

“It’s the real thing?”

“Directly from Gabriel’s chambers.”

The bottle was still hovering between them, like an offering.

“After everything you said?” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale didn’t answer. He just held out the bottle. His eyes seemed a bit red rimmed, but then again Crowley’s would probably too. He took the bottle, the plastic feeling weirdly familiar in his hands. His chest was so very tight.

“Should I say thank you?”

“Better not.”

A hint of a smile lay on Aziraphale’s lips. But his eyes looked so sad. They were big as the moon and so very blue, like the deepest depths of the ocean.

And suddenly Crowley knew. The realisation was just there. And after had happened, it felt so natural, that he could not understand, how he could have ever been so blind.

He loved Aziraphale.

He loved the stupid way he cared about him. He loved the way his eyes always carried a hint of sadness and astonishment over the vastness of the world. He loved the way his hair fell into his eyes, when he tilted his head. And he loved the way he plucked his lip when he was in thought. He loved all of it.

And he wanted to say it. The words were burning on his tongue, and it felt like Crowley would burn out, if he didn’t speak them. They twisted in his guy, accompanied by thousands of butterflies. But then he remembered that Aziraphale, would not, could not, ever love him. They came from two very different worlds, and it had been sheer luck that they got the chance to ever meet each other. They could never happen. This could not happen.

So although it felt like he was cutting out his heart, a piece of his soul, he banished the thoughts from his head. He bottled them up with all the other things he did not dare to think about.

“Well, can I drop you anywhere?”

Aziraphale gave him another one of his sad smiles. ~~It hurt so much.~~

“No, thank you.”

And the corners of Crowley’s mouth, the damn traitors, couldn’t help put fall, his smile crumbling to pieces.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could…I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at that new restaurant.”

Crowley knew this would never happen. Aziraphale would not dare to meet in public like this. After all he wouldn’t want to be seen with a disgrace like Crowley. His mouth was faster than his brain.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale flinched. His hand was already on the handle of the door. He opened it and the warm afternoon air entered.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

And then Crowley was left with the beautiful smell of the person he loved, a stupid bottle of shampoo and his feelings. And he gripped his steering wheel and drove off till late into the night, not caring where he was going. But with every turn the ghost of his emotions followed and he realised that he would have to manufacture stronger bottles for his feelings, because Aziraphale was about to shatter each and every one of them.

**Friday, one day till the band contest**

Aziraphale was having a mild panic attack. He was pacing up and down in his room, his socks thrumming dully on the carpet with every step. His chest felt very tight. He was, as he was usually if he was very nervous, talking to himself.

“I’ll just go to Gabriel and explain it all.” He was muttering just now.

He was convinced that it would be the best to take this matter to the highest authority. After all it was of the utmost importance. How he would get his matter across, however, he didn’t know in the slightest. ~~In the back of his head the thoughts about Crowley were still lingering, ready attack any time he showed weakness. Crowley would surely know what to do~~. He shook his head. ~~~~

“Yes. So, Gabriel, um…Listen, Gabriel… Father Gab- No, that’s too formal. Hello, Gabriel. There is a-a-a judge we have to deal with and-and make everything ok again. Oh, God.”

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot from the night he had been spending reading and his hair looked a mess. He was a mess. He sighed.

He had no doubt that Gabriel would know what to do. He was older and wiser. He would set everything right. After all, they were the good guys. They would make everything work out.

He turned his attention back to his image in the glass. He smiled. It looked pathetic.

“Hello, Gabriel. Just thought you ought to know that due to an unfortunate mix-up at a train station, the judge has been mislaid. But it’s alright, because I’ve found him. He’s living right here in Tadfield. And he…um, signed the contract. Um, I have his address…and so we just have to persuade him now into letting us win, then everything could still be ok, yeah.”

He slumped down. This was useless. He was a useless excuse of a Christian. He couldn’t even do the easiest task, he had been assigned. He had messed everything up. He had to hope for Gabriel’s forgiveness. He would go there just now and tell him. Maybe it would make everything better if he just got it over with. Like a plaster that you needed to yank off as fast as possible.

He exhaled deeply and took another look into the mirror. From now on there would be no more distractions.

************

This wasn’t, insofar as Adam had had any expectations, what he had imagined life would be like in the last days before such an important band contest. But then again, environment shapes character. There are certain behaviours appropriate to guest, which are in fact welded into the unspoken codex of human communication.

He’d participated in the evening family meals, and had attempted to reduce the amount of small talk by means of the usual dismissive stare. It had always worked in the past.

It didn’t seem to work on the Youngs. The just kept chatting happily about their day, totally oblivious to the murdering stare of their guest. Maybe Adam liked it only a tiny bit. It felt good to be included into such a daily routine and sincere atmosphere. And occasionally Mrs Young would ask him questions about his day, and he would give her uncommunicative and repellent answers, which she would still smile about. But of course he was only there for the fantastic food. Not the people or anything. Adam was looking forward to a ~~chat with the young’s~~ an amazing dinner, which would consists, as Mrs Young had promised, of roast and potato wedges. 

Right now he was walking down the street, already thinking about his lunch, when he heard some distant screams. He turned another corner to find himself standing in front of Jasmine Cottage, the house the witch was currently living in.

Said witch was standing in the garden and throwing flower pots on the ground. Adam moved closer and peeked over the hedge.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. So many years my family kept it safe. So many years! So stupid!”

She was crying, her make up running down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffed and her hair messy. He somehow felt bad for her.

“Hello, are you ok? Can I help?” He asked.

Anathema looked up, searching for the source of the voice until she saw Adam looking at her through the leaves. Quickly she dried her tears.

“I’m fine.” She said.

It didn’t help really. Her eyes were still bloodshot and he looked very far from fine. Adam should have walked away. After all there was a roast waiting for him at the Young’s kitchen table. But he didn’t. He stayed. Maybe he had already spent too much time in this damn place, their ideas and stupid morals corrupting his head, making his brain soft.

“But you were crying.”

“I know.” Anathema sniffed.

She straightened her shirt. It showed some logo of a band, Adam had never heard of. She smiled, although the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yes, Hello. This is going to sound so stupid, but I lost my book, which I don’t even like, and it all just got a bit much.”

She laughed, a trace of hysteria in her voice. Adam frowned. He didn’t really get, why anyone would make such a fuss about a book.

“I can help you look for it.” He offered anyway.

“Oh that’s sweet of you. But actually I don’t really want to have it back. Actually I meant to throw it away for a really long time now.”

She sighed and wiped away another tear.

“It’s complicated. It’s been in my family for a long time. I don’t think I’m quite used to the idea of living without it.”

Adam didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t really good at the whole comfort thing. He didn’t really care most of the time either.

“Books are like D and D campaigns.” He said dumbly.

“I recently wrote another one. It was about this bard, who was a famous detective among the heroes. I bet it was a lot more exciting than any book you’ve lost. Especially the bit in the tavern where the dragon comes out and fights with the orc. I bet it’d cheer you up, playing a round of D and D with us.”

He noticed he had been babbling. He blushed and extended his hand instead.

“I’m Adam. I’m living with the Youngs.”

Anathema smiled.

“Thanks, Adam. Did you know you are a bit full of yourself?”

Adam looked at her dumbfounded. He wasn’t used to people actually talking back at him. Well, except for pepper maybe. Anathema seemed satisfied with his reaction.

“Oh, I’m Anathema, by the way.”

She ignored his hand. Adam felt really stupid. This girl was humiliating him.

“Are you from around here?”

“Nope. Only been here a few month.”

He took back his hand and shoved it in his pocket to look a bit cooler. It felt awkwardly cold.

“You haven’t seen two guys in a big black vintage car, have you?”

Adam thought about it.

“Did they steal it? You book, I mean. Professional book thieves, probably go around their car stealing books.” He said, feeling really important.

Anathema laughed. It was a bell-like sound, which made Adam’s heart go beating like crazy.

“You’re stupid. Did anyone tell you that yet?”

Her eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement.

“No, I don’t think they meant to steal it. They were rather busy acting like an old married couple.”

She grinned.

“Do you want some lemonade?”

And Adam just starred at her, mouth slightly agape, because he had never met a woman that was so witty and glib and he found himself speechless. So he forgot all about the roast on the kitchen table and followed Anathema into her flat.

Adam had always believed that taking no consideration for other people’s feeling was the best way to make it through live unharmed. That’s why he never thought about how his actions might affect the others. He had no manners, no sense of responsibility.

But just as he wanted to enter the building Anathema stopped him.

“You have to wipe your feet first.” She said.

Adam looked down on his muddy boots and the cheerful doormat. He hesitated. He would never wipe his boots. But this was a special situation. He shrugged. Then he did as Anathema asked, entered the cottage and a little bit more of his ego burned away.

***********

Strictly speaking, Shadwell didn’t run the _London’s Teens and Terrors_. According to Shadwell’s pay ledgers, it was run by president of head editors Smith. Under him were human resources managers Green and Jones, and printing commissioners Jacskon, Robinson and Smith. Then there were chief editors Saucepan, Tin, Milkbottle (deceased), and Cupboard, because Shadwell’s limited imagination had been beginning to struggle at this point.

The phone is his run down kitchen, which also happened to be his office (he was closer to the water kettle this way), rang.

“Chief editor Shadwell?” He answered the phone.

There was a short silence at the other end. Then an unfamiliar voice spoke up.

“Um hello, yeah, Mr Crowley here. Is this _London’s Teens and Terrors_?”

“Yes, how may I help you?” Shadwell tried to sound as reputable as possible.

“Your grandson, Mark, he gave me your number. He said I could contact you for any research on, um…naughty people?”

“Oh yes, Mark, how is he? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Some people were convinced that Shadwell was able to smell the money, people had on them. That actually wasn’t the case, because then he would have immediately slammed down the phone on his current interlocutor, instead of enduring this useless small talk. But then again he also didn’t notice Mr Crowley’s suspiciously high and very badly disgusted voice. So maybe it was just the phone connection, blocking his senses.

The mysterious Mr Crowley cleared his throat.

“Yeah, he’s well.”

Shadwell smiled.

“Then let’s get into business. The men need paying, your Honour. It’s hard times for devoted journalists in today’s degenerate age. That would be two hundred and fifty pounds.”

Maybe someone should have told Shadwell that talking about money before coming to the actual matter at hand was not the most reputable process. But most people would have already recognised the scam when looking at the names of the editors. And also Crowley wasn’t most people. He didn’t he have any intend to actually pay the money.

“I’ll drop the money off for you on Saturday.” He assured.

Shadwell could already smell the sweet perfume of the bills.

“Only in cash, in an envelope. Don’t take plastic.”

For most people this would have been the last straw in finally realising the true nature of this so called paper. But drastic times demanded drastic manners.

“You have to go to Tadfield, you know, the place Mark is living. Send your best people down there. I’m looking for a man. He’s called Adam. I don’t have anything more than that. But look for anything… musically.”

Shadwell pretended to take down some notes. He had no intention of every going to this place. The kids up there, including his grandson Mark, were all total brats, in his opinion.

“That would be a hundred more for operating out of London.” Shadwell said.

He licked his lips.

“This, uh, boy…he’s a teenager?” He asked, trying to sound interested.

“Possibly. We’ll have to find him first, won’t we?”

“Aye. Well, my best operative, that would be local journalist Table-”

His very convincing performance was harshly interrupted.

“Call me if you find anything.”

The line went dead.

***********

Anathema was busy pouring lemonade into two glasses. Adam was sitting at her kitchen table, his hands uncomfortably wrenching in his lap.

“My family has been relying on this book of prophecy, going all the way back to my grandmother. We try to find the meaning of her words.”

She put down one glass in front of him. Adam frowned.

“Right. What’s so bad about that?”

Anathema sighed and slumped into her chair.

“It’s not so bad at first. I mean, it gave my parents a shit load of money. But you know how they say _With great power comes great responsibility_.”

Adam’s lips twisted into a smile.

“Yeah that’s from Spiderman!” He said, happy to at least understand this part of the conversation.

Anathema chuckled. He was kind of adorable. Not as in _adorable_ adorable, but more like a kid’s naiveté was adorable.

“Yeah right. And I mean that sucks you know? People having great expectations about your future, just because you’re grandma said you’re this amazing person. Like when do I get to choose who I want to be?”

Adam nodded thoughtfully.

“Amazing there being all these lines of prophecies around and us not talking about them.”

Even though Adam was a very weird collocutor, it still felt good to finally get some things off her mind.

“I can also see egos.”

Maybe she was also bragging a bit. Adam looked at her blankly.

“This psychological construct, meant for self-reflection and self-appraisal. It’s like a coloured force field surrounding someone. Everyone’s got one. Although some are bigger than others.” She explained.

“You mean an aura?”

“No I mean the ego. Aura is for feelings. Ego is for self-perception.”

“But that’s brilliant. Why don’t they talk about that in the news or teach us about them at school?”

Adam’s face lit up with excitement. A dark expression, however, crossed over Anathema’s face.

“Because school is a repressive tool of the state.”

Unfortunately Adam didn’t seem very interested in her anti-capitalism talk. He was still caught up on the ego thing.

“So what does my ego look like then?”

Anathema tried to concentrate, the energies of the egos shifting in and out of focus. She looked at Adam. Looked really hard. But she couldn’t see anything. Just the plain normal air. Weird. She would have thought Adam to have a rather big ego.

“Adam, I can’t see your ego.” She admitted.

“You said, everybody’s got one.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t know. It’s an art, not a science.” She shrugged it off.

Really tough, she felt very nervous. Why couldn’t she see Adam’s ego? Had her decision to run away somehow affected her powers? Was this a punishment for her denying her fate? She was snapped out of her thoughts.

“So what else does nobody talk about?”

It was like Anathema had waited for her cue. She took a deep breath, a familiar anger rushing through her veins.

“They’re clubbing baby seals. They’re cutting down the rain forest so you can get a cheap hamburger. They are corrupting our plants, so watch out for genetically modified food. And don’t get me started on global warming. And you know how whales have huge brains and are really intelligent? They’re hunting them for no reason, slaughtering them for their flesh. And don’t forget the Nuclear power stations.”

Adam seemed a bit taken aback. He didn’t know about half of the things Anathema was talking about. So answered with the only thing he did know about.

“Nuclear power stations are rubbish.”

Anathema nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, yes, they are!”

“I saw a documentary once and there was nothing bubbling, and there wasn’t any green smoke, and there weren’t anyone in those space suits, like you see in all the SciFi movies. And it was so dull.”

Anathema grimaced. Maybe Adam wasn’t the right person to talk about this with.

“Well, yes, but we need to get rid of them. They are destroying our future with all the radioactive waste.”

Adam nodded seriously.

“Serves them right for no bubbling.”

Anathema cleared her throat.

“Adam, I have to get back to work.” She said slowly.

“But if you’re interested in any of this stuff, I have some good resources I could send you. You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.”

She pulled out her phone and asked him for his number. Adam smiled sheepishly. Only a few seconds later, he had a considerable amount of links in his inbox. He didn’t really care about all the stuff Anathema was talking about. But it seemed to be important to her, so he would read it just to please her. Also, as a nice side effect, he now had Anathemas number.

It might have helped Anathema to understand what was going on, if she understood the very simple reason why she couldn’t see Adam’s ego. It’s for the same reason that people in Times Square can’t see America. It simply was too big.

**************

“So Aziraphale…We’ve got your message. Have you got something big?”

Aziraphale nervously eyed Uriel, Michael and Sandalphon, which were standing right next to Gabriel. He would have rather talked to Gabriel alone. How could he get this across without infuriating them? Maybe it would be best to call the whole thing off, just pretend he didn’t know.

“Lay it on us.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry?”

Gabriel smiled, his patience already running noticeable low.

“What’s happening?”

Aziraphale felt the panic ripping at his guts. It was a hot caustic feeling. His hands started sweating. He tried to hide them behind his back.

“Ok, ahem, so… Well, ahem…It’s—It’s about the judge.”

Uriel raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

Why did his mouth feel so dry? He licked his lips.

“I think that, um…Well, it’s not impossible, uh, considering all—all the alternatives that the—the other side, might have lost track of him.”

The people in front of him were throwing each other uncomprehending glances. Michael blinked in confusion. Were her eyelashes always that long?

“The other side?”

Aziraphale laughed nervously, a very fake smile plastered on his face. His heart felt fluttery.

“Well…um, you know…our satanic friends.”

Gabriel frowned.

“Lost track of him? He’s living in the Tadfield music residence. He’s under constant surveillance.”

Michael nodded.

“The sound check is this evening. Apparently, that’s the traditional starting point.” 

“Everything else just follows. The four horsemen ride out. Great battle between our people and the Emos.”

Aziraphale’s thoughts were running wild. He had to tell them. Why did he feel like fainting then?

“Yes. Well, um…it’s possible that the demon…”

He hesitated before chocking out his name.

“…Crowley, a-a-a wily adversary…”

He laughed again.

“Keeps me on my toes, I can tell you.”

The eyes of all four were still on him. But Gabriel didn’t smile and the other didn’t look very amused either. Oh God, had they found out? He made sure to continue quickly.

“But the, um, man, uh, living in the music residence, uh…Well, it may have been a ruse.”

It was a lie. Aziraphale felt terrible. He shouldn’t lie. ~~And he shouldn’t put the blame on Crowley. They were friends.~~ He was a very bad person.

Sandalphon cleared his throat. His eyes were piercing through Aziraphale. More sweat. He was sure they had to be able to smell his fear by now.

“A ruse?”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, as if that would make his performance somehow more credible.

“And the actual judge might be, um”

He shrugged exaggeratedly.

“…somewhere else.”

The pitch of his voice had wandered into the highest register possible. Gabriel smiled sickly. Aziraphale could see the anger boiling under his calm facade.

“Where?”

Aziraphale thought of Mr Young’s voice on the phone, of the guitar sounds in the background. And then he thought of Crowley, who was still waiting for his answer, not shouting at him like this with fake compassion.

“Not sure.”

The lie just slipped over his lips. He was disgusted by how natural it felt.

“I mean, I-I-I could find out. Uh, I have a…contact.” He stammered.

“A dedicated team who—who would investigate the possibility. Um…hypothetically speaking, if that were the case--”

Uriel interrupted his pathetic attempt. Her face was blank.

“I’m very disappointed Aziraphale. You were given a task and you failed to execute it. You failed god.”

Her voice was cold. Aziraphale hung his head and nodded gloomy.

“This contest is very important. The conflict between bad and evil, us and the Emos, has been going on for years. Crowley and the rest of his filthy gang might be outcasts to society and we, on the other hand, might be highly respected, but nothing was ever really settled.”

Aziraphale looked down, ashamed.

“I suppose it wasn’t.”

His voice trembled. His fingers were fiddling with the ring on his right hand. It calmed him down a bit, which was very important considering the ball of nerves that had formed in his chest.

“But this doesn’t have to be the end, does it? I mean, it’s just a contest. No need to throw all the amazing stuff, we have done with the band, away right after it.”

He threw a hopeful glance in Gabriel’s direction. He knew how ambitious the priest could be. Surely the thought of winning more band contest and with that reaching more people had to be appealing to him. But Gabriel only smiled.

“As much as we appreciate your hypotheticals, Aziraphale, I’m afraid we have other things to do. The band contest isn’t just going to win itself, you know.”

At that point his last hopes shattered.

“No. Right. Yes.” He said, shaking his head like he was trying to shake off his worries.

Gabriel patted him on the shoulder.

“You better don’t mess this up as well.”

“What did you think of that, then?” Gabriel asked, as Aziraphale had left the church.

His smile had vanished completely.

“That’s a boy who’s been losing his faith, hanging around the wrong people.” Uriel said.

Sandalphone’s face turned into a disgusted grimace.

“I don’t trust him.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully.

“Hypotheticals, indeed.”

*************

Anathema was trying not to give in to her panic. Currently she was standing on the street, starring at people’s egos like she was some kind of lunatic. There were a lot of people on the street actually, all looking rather busy. She wondered what they were up to. And why wasn’t she able to see Adam’s ego?

It really wasn’t that big of a deal. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t like her powers anyway, never wanted to have them, so why should she be sad about losing them? But maybe, just maybe she needed the familiar rush of the colours to wash over her. To sooth her with a sensation that she would always understand, even in the darkest times, when no one else understood her.

Suddenly there was a very creepy guy standing next to her. He was grinning lazily.

“R.P Tyler. I couldn’t help but notice that you were staring blankly into space. Would you care for something more…spacious?”

Anathema took a closer look at his very yellow teeth. His breath smelled disgusting.

“I’m—I’m renting Jasmine Cottage. It’s already very spacious.” She said, trying to bring as much space as possible between the two of them.

But the man followed after.

“Oh, fuck, you’re an American tourist, right? Sorry. Thought you were a person with interest of buying.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. Anathema groaned.

“Could you please fuck off? I have my own stack at home, so no I do not need your drugs. Also, you’re not being very subtle.”

The man snorted offended, but didn’t edge any closer. Anathema coughed slightly.

“Listen, do you know what all these people are up to? I really could use some kind of distraction and if you know your ways in the neighbourhood, maybe you noticed.”

The man gave her a nasty smile, which showed even more of his rotting teeth.

“They’re preparing everything for that weird band contest tomorrow. Big show, I’m telling ya, no day that’s selling better.”

He laughed.

“But of course, Tadfield is a perfectly respectable village. If you’re coming here to, I don’t know, smoke your fatty spliffers and bimble off to woo-woo land, then you sure wouldn’t come to me, alright?”

He grinned before giving her a small wave with his hand and disappearing into another shadow.

**********

Aziraphale had been walking up and down in his room the whole time. Maybe if he kept doing this he would be able to carve his paths in the wooden floor.

He had messed up. He had messed up big time. He failed his job for Gabriel and he lied to him. He lied to him and Crowley. He betrayed both sides. Why couldn’t he just accept the way the things would have gone? He felt so alone. Tear were silently running down his face.

No. He slapped himself internally. He would not give up like this. He would fix this. He could do something about this. He just had to do the one thing, he promised Crowley to do: Contact his human resources. Crowley would never know that he had lied to him. And also he could use this to obtain information for fixing his situation with Gabriel.

Yes. His chest felt a bit lighter. He pulled himself together and sniffed one last time. Then he picked up his phone and dialled the familiar number.

“Hello.”

There was a woman on the line, Aziraphale didn’t know her. He hesitated.

“Chief editor Shadwell please. Or, um, one of his employees.”

His voice sounded much more shallow than he wanted it to be.

“I shall endeavour to see if he is available. Hold on.”

He heard a faint knocking.

“Coo-eee Mr Shadwell.”

Her voice sounded very kind. The line clicked.

“I’m afraid Mr Shadwell is not attainable at the moment.”

Aziraphale wanted to scream. It felt like the final push. His eyes were watering again.

“Is everything all right, dear?”

Aziraphale sniffed.

“Yes…no. It’s all just a bit too much at the moment.” He chuckled and wiped away the tears.

“Oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s alright, dear. If you need someone to talk, just come over. Madam Tracy always has a friendly ear for everyone in need.” 

Aziraphale nearly choked on a sob.

“Thank you.” He breathed.

Their conversation was interrupted by a very angry. “Away with you, traitor.”

************

Shadwell trotted up the stairs, only to find Madam Tracy answering their shared telephone. She turned around to him.

“There’s a young gentleman on the telephone for you. Sounds ever so refined.”

She offered him the receiver. He took it from her hands, careful to avoid any contact.

“And I’ll be getting a nice bit of liver for us for Sunday.” He growled.

“I’d sooner sup with the devil.”

Madam Tracy smiled.

“So if you could just give me the plates back from last week. There’s a love.”

The door closed behind her. He let out a last growl then he turned to the phone.

“Aye?”

The was a soft static sound.

“Chief editor Shadwell. It’s you-know -who.” The person on the other end whispered.

“Who?”

“Me. Your, um, friend with financial benefits.”

Shadwell listened up at the word financial. The other one cleared his throat.

“Listen, do you have any men free? I need them to poke about a bit.”

Shadwell huffed. As promising as the financial bit sounded, he didn’t like the thought of actual work.

“Poke? Where exactly do you want them poking?” He asked blandly.

“Right here in Tadfield. There’s a man I need placed under observation. I-I need to know where he is at all times. I can give you his address.”

There was a lot of urgency mixing into the man’s voice.

“I’ll put a squad of my best men onto it.” Shadwell assured.

He wouldn’t do that of course. The other man let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh, good. Thank you so much.”

There was ruffling on the other end.

“Oh, and I should have asked about chief editor Milkbottle. I was so sorry to hear of his untimely end. I sent flowers.”

Shadwell nodded and looked at the withered bouquet right next to him.

“Aye, the flowers were appreciated. And so was the extra 20 pound for the family. He was a brave man.”

He had bought a very good bottle of scotch from that money.

“Oh, I was flabbergasted when you told me that he had died.”

“Aye. A devout man.”

They stayed silent for a while. Maybe now was the best time to bring up the financial part again.

“I’ll be, um…by the bookstore, um, next week to pick up your annual dues.”

“Yes, Squad of best men to Tadfield, dear fellow. And keep them there until I give you more orders. Now the man is called…Adam Warlock Young. And his address is number four, Hogback Lane, Tadfield.”

Shadwell looked down on the paper on which he had previously scribbled the information from the anonymous caller. He wasn’t, by far, a very intelligent man, but this struck even him as strange. He huffed.

“Absolutely, your honour. Tadfield it is.”

Maybe he would send down young Newton there after all. Couldn’t hurt do a bit research with so many coincidences piling up?

“Right. Pip-pip. And let me know when your men are in position.”

The line disconnected. Shadwell shook his head in disbelieve.

“Pip-pip.” He muttered. 

Shadwell finally entered his flat. Newton was sitting at one of the desks, a steaming mug of tea and several newspapers in front of him.

“Find any misdeeds yet, local journalist Pulsifer?” He asked a started to take off his coat.

Newton sprang to his feet, excitedly.

“Even better than that. I found something really interesting.”

Shadwell mimicked interest as he began making a tea for himself as well.

“Hmm.”

“I’ve discovered some really interesting articles. There’s a town in Oxfordshire with some very naughty events.”

“Oh? Teenage violence? Or teenage gangs? Destroyed buildings after some bastard child got into an argument with an honest citizen?”

Newton hesitated.

“No. It’s just…it has a very famous band contest.”

Shadwell huffed.

“You call that interesting?”

Newton fiddled with his hands.

“But it is interesting. There have been multiple brawls, severe vandalism and night-times-disturbances. It happened every year, since the contest was established. And it is about to happen again.”

Shadwell waved his hand dismissively. This young lad really wanted to do his job. What a shock.

“Not interesting. Just look for teenagers and teenage-caused trouble.”

************

His name was Dr Raven Sable, but people liked to call him another one. Addiction. He loved poison in peoples veins. He loves people losing control over their lives and falling into an inexorable downward spiral. Around him the party was just getting started, a glazy haze over people’s eyes. They probably wouldn’t even remember this day if you’d ask them later. They would just want to have more of it.

“We have had the greatest turnover in ecstasy this month.” His assistance was just now explaining to him.

The two of them were probably the only people sober in this room, apart from their business partners opposite to them maybe. His assistance was a small, stocky woman with long dull hair. He on the other hand was tall and what most people would have called handsome man. He had smooth black skin and a perfectly trimmed beard.

He chuckled, a glimmer of dark satisfaction in his eyes.

“What is it?” His assistant asked.

“It just occurred to me. I have never seen a room full of rich people, so close to physical break down, before.”

He was a businessman with a record label. Also a ruthless drug lord. And he was about to launch something new. His own creation. Chow ©.

His assistance placed an elegant black suitcase on the counter. His hands tenderly stroked over the material, until he finally snapped it open. Inside were several containers with pink pills. He turned to his business partner, a very stern looking woman with lips as thin as a line.

“Chemicals. Very rare chemicals. Stimulants that will keep you going the whole night, until you finally fall unconscious. Hallucinogenic. And…”

He made a dramatic pause.

“we’re rather proud of this: It’s totally addictive.”

His assistance took over, the same pride swaying in her voice.

“You’ll just want to have another go.”

Sable shrugged. The bass was booming in his ears. But he never felt more alive.

“Well, that’s what drugs are supposed to do, right?”

He clapped his hands.

“Ok, let’s try it out.”

Outside a truck had pulled up. A man in shorts got out and walked towards the building. In his hands was an envelope.

His assistance was giving a short introduction to the product. With satisfaction, he saw the longing in the woman’s eyes.

“Press this button when you hand over the Chow ©. And don’t call it “drugs”. It’s Chow ©.”

A mechanical voice began to talking from a speaker in the suitcase.

“Chow ©-brand morale booster contains dope, heroine and other intoxicating substances designed to overload your neural system, substance carrier, sealant, colourings and flavourings. Chow is a prescription required morale booster and must not be confused with so called party-drugs. Taking Chow can help you to lose communicative barriers, hair and kidney function. May cause severe vomiting. Enjoy your trip.”

Sable had raised his hands to rest them in front of his chest in a prayer like manner. His eyes were closed and he was taking in every word with great satisfaction.

“Party, name of Sable?”

The whole group turned around to look at the guy in the faded shirt and with the cap, sitting awkwardly on his fading hair. He looked like a delivery guy and was scanning the group for the addressed person.

Sable raised his hands. The man smiled. He seemed to be uncomfortable around all these very high people.

“I thought it was you. I looked around, I thought “Tall gent with a beard, nice suit.””

He took an envelope from his pockets. The party noise faded into the background.

“There’s an invitation for you, sir. You have to sign for it.”

Sable did sign for it, not wanting to wait any longer, to get his hands on the paper.

The delivery man threw another horrified look at the raging crowd. Somewhere a young girl was throwing up, blood dripping from her mouth. He left without another word. Sable tore the envelope to pieces. He was sure one would find the same longing in his eyes now that the woman had shown earlier.

“The band contest. Finally.” He breathed out and held the paper into the air, like it was some form of holy grail.

“I’m going to Tadfield.”

The business meeting was forgotten. He quickly made his way through all the exhausted but still ecstatic people, towards the door. His assistance followed closely after.

“I’ll let the jet know. When are you returning?”

“Who knows. Cancel all my appointments.”

“For how long?”

“The foreseeable future.”

**********

Newton wiggled his nose, so that his dirty glasses sat better on it. In his hand was the teenager manual, second edition. He looked up.

“Chief editor Shadwell, you know the village, I was telling you about with the band contest? Well, according to the manual, concerts can attract huge groups of teenagers.”

He cleared his throat, Shadwell’s eyes uncomfortably scanning him.

“What--What if I was to sort of nip over there tomorrow, have a little look round?” He asked sheepishly.

“I could pay for my own petrol.”

He knew Shadwell could not resist the idea of saving any sort of money. But Shadwell seemed deep in thought.

“This village, it wouldn’t be called Tadfield, would it?” He asked.

Newton frowned.

“How did you know that?”

A grin spread across Shadwell’s face.

“Aye. Well, I suppose it can’t do any harm.”

Newton had the very bad feeling that his impeccable persuading skills weren’t the only reason for his changed of mind. But it didn’t really matter. He wanted to go there after all. He was weirdly proud of his discovery.

“Be here at 9:00 in the morning afore you leave.”

“What for?”

Shadwell scratched his chin.

“Your armour of righteousness.”

*************

The phone was ringing. Aziraphale pretended not to look at it, and the name on the screen. But his heart was telling him otherwise. It was beating way to fast. His fingers were slippery as he accepted the call.

“It’s me. Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous.”

There it was again, the blazing star in his chest. It felt like it was about to swallow Aziraphale whole. He tried to sound as cheerful as possible.

“Is that the old bandstand, the number 19 bus, or the café?”

It felt like his tongue was stumbling over his words. Crowley groaned. Aziraphale could almost hear the ~~affectionate~~ irritation in his voice.

“The bandstand. God, how do you even survive? I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

The line clicked. Aziraphale really didn’t want to go. He had to keep his distance from now on. Not after everything that had happened with Gabriel. He really didn’t want to. So he went. He told himself it would be a final goodbye.

He didn’t yet know, how right he was.

**************

Adam was sitting at the Young’s kitchen table. They had kept the roast warm for him, even waiting for his return. There was a comfortable silence.

Finally Adam put down his cutlery and cleared his throat. Deirdre and Arthur starred at him in amazement. Up until now he had never said anything without being asked, and most of the time he had proven to be a very taciturn person.

“Did you nuclear power plant produce radioactive waste that will still affect our world in thousands of years?”

Deirdre and Arthur exchanged an uncertain glance.

“Yes, Adam. We knew that. But, you know, they are also very important for supplying our country with enough energy for everyone.”

Deirdre gave him an encouraging smile.

“But they’re rubbish. They wouldn’t complain about it on the internet if they weren’t rubbish.”

Arthur laughed nervously. He wasn’t going to explain to Adam, that this was, in fact, the most common use of the internet.

“They need to be shut down to prevent the emergence of any more radioactive material.”

Deirdre coughed slightly.

“Adam, as much as I encourage your investment into these political manners, there have to be realistic measures in taking down these power plants. You can’t just shut them down all at once.”

She gave him a patient smile.

“Maybe you could participate in some meetings of the local environmental campaigners?” She suggested.

Adam nodded slowly.

“I think I might do that, actually.”

He stood up, but not before responsibly putting his plate into the dishwasher. Deirdre bit her lip. She was a bit worried.

“Do you think he is alright?”

Arthur shook his head.

“He’s fine.”

*************

Tadfield, like any other self-respecting English city, had a bandstand in the park. It was and old, beautiful metal structure, long paths leading in every direction, lined by old pine trees. The sun was already dim and the faint light of the lanterns along the paths formed a beautiful, shining pattern.

Aziraphale walked through the darkness, his steps far too loud on the crunching gravel. He could already spot Crowley’s red hair from miles away. Crowley himself was leaning against one of the bandstand’s posts, his hands in pockets. Aziraphale’s heart felt heavy and he nearly couldn’t raise his feet to climb the steps up to the platform.

“Well. Any news?”

Aziraphale stopped in a safe distance, hoping the approaching darkness would disguise the conflict displayed on his face. He felt chilly.

“What-what kind of new would that be?”

Crowley pushed away from the post. His eyes were again hidden behind his sunglasses, so Aziraphale could not tell what exactly he was thinking. He was wearing no jacket, despite the cold evening air, just the same T-shirt and skinny jeans. Did he know?

“Well, have you found the missing judge’s name, address and shoe size yet?”

Aziraphale’s heart stopped beating for a second, only to continue beating at twice the speed afterwards. ~~He could not know.~~

“His shoe size? Why-why would I have his shoe size?” He laughed nervously.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“It’s a joke. I’ve got nothing either.”

The light of the nearest lantern fell over his face, making the furrows seem much deeper than they actually were. He looked exhausted. And it was Aziraphale’s fault. Somehow he felt like his fringes had dissolved, exposing his outer body parts to a weird kind of static that was tucking away his edges.

“Then maybe, that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.”

A ghost of a smile coming across his face. ~~It was a sad smile.~~ Crowley started running around like crazy.

“Yeah, for the record, great pustulent mangled fucking bollocks to the Great blasted Plan!” He shouted into the sky.

It sounded of so much despair and desperation, it was almost animalistic. His voice broke. He was breathing violently, his fists still clenching from his sudden outburst. He was shivering. ~~It felt like someone had ripped Aziraphale’s heart out of his chest~~. Of course nobody answered.

“God has a plan for you Crowley. God loves everyone.” Aziraphale breathed.

 ~~Maybe he was rather saying this to convince himself~~.

Crowley let out a frantic laugh, but it got stuck in his throat.

“I won’t be loved. Not ever. That’s what life has taught me. Unlovable. That’s what I am.” He screamed, years of repressed sorrow wavering in his words.

Someone was twisting a burning knife in Aziraphale’s gut. It hurt to know that Crowley would think about himself like that. Crowley shouldn’t feel this way. He was the stronger one of the two. He always had been. He never gave up.

There were people out there who needed him. ~~He needed him.~~

There were people out there who loved him. ~~He…He……He…..~~

“But…your boyfriend…your parents…”

 _Me._ Say it. Say it. Say it. The words were etched on his tongue. He felt like he would choke on them. But he didn’t say them.

Crowley averted his eyes.

“That was a long time ago.”

The silence was looming between them. Aziraphale wanted to move over, put a soothing hand on Crowley’s shoulder, tell him that everything would be alright, but his feet were glued to the ground. There was a ditch between them that he would never be able to cross.

Crowley had turned his back on him. He was shaking, ~~maybe he was crying~~.

Suddenly he snapped arround and sprinted towards Aziraphale at superhuman speed. His face was hovering only centimetres away from him.

 ~~I’m not nice. Nice is a four letter word~~.

“We find him. We can do it.”

His voice was dangerously low, almost pleading. Aziraphale tried to back away, without actually taking a step back.

“And then what? We kidnap him?” He asked.

He could see Crowley’s eyes dating over his face behind his sunglasses. He could see every stubble on Crowley’s chin. Crowley clenched his teeth.

“Someone does. I’m not personally up for extending my criminal record.”

Aziraphale shivered.

“You’re the one already in trouble with the authorities. I’m the nice one. I don’t...”

He hesitated, ashamed to even put the words in his mouth.

“…kidnap people.”

Crowley tried to shush him, but Aziraphale had already talked himself into a rage.

Suddenly the pieces in his head fell back in place. Crowley _was_ the bad guy. He _was_ the good guy. All this time, he had spent with the Emo, had made him forget, about the things he had been taught from the very beginning. ~~Somewhere back in his mind it all felt very wrong, way too easy. Like a puzzle piece that seemed like it had the right shape when you compared it only to a few other pieces, but failed its purpose when you tried to see the bigger picture.~~

“If you kidnap him, then our bands get a reprieve and our community is not associated with such… infamous actions.”

Crowley let out a hallow laugh. ~~Some part of Aziraphale realised, that he must have hurt him.~~

“Oh denying responsibility, are we? That’s a bit holier-than-thou, isn’t it?”

“Well, we are a great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point.” He snapped.

Crowley growled. His face was a mask of anger, ~~pain and exasperation.~~ He came close to Aziraphale’s again. His eyes were burning with rage, that could have almost melted his sunglasses.

“You take care of the judge yourself. Holi-ly.” He spit.

Aziraphale knew that he should feel threatened. Crowley was known for his propensity towards more drastic measures after all. But somehow he knew that all the anger was just a thin façade. A defence mechanism so Aziraphale wouldn’t know how he was really feeling.

Aziraphale exhaled deeply and tried to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“I am not…hurting anybody.” He said.

He moved his hands over his face, the exhaustion seeping through his somewhat tough appearance. They looked at each other, their unspoken words threateningly lingering between them in thick silence. No one dared to make a move, not able even come close to expressing what they were feeling.

Crowley was the first one to break out of their trance.

“This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

It felt like a sad excuse. Aziraphale huffed.

“Well, frankly, neither do I.”

“Enough, I’m leaving.”

Crowley turned, walking away from Aziraphale with fast steps. It looked like he was fleeing.

_Say something. Say something. Ask him to stay._

Hopelessness bubbled up in Aziraphale’s chest. _Say something_.

“You can’t leave, Crowley. There isn’t anywhere to go.”

Crowley sighed, moving his hand through his hair.

“It’s a big world, angel. It’s not like Tadfield is of much use anyway.”

He hesitated. Then looked up at Aziraphale somewhat sheepishly.

“Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can…go off together.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. The familiar warm sensation rushed through his veins. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine.

“Go off…together?” He breathed.

_Say yes. Say yes. Say yes._

He shook his head.

“Listen to yourself. It’s ridiculous. We haven’t even finished school.”

Crowley took a hesitant step towards him.

“How long have we been friends? Since 6th grade!”

 _Friends._ He had called them that. ~~I felt good.~~

They weren’t friends. They had worked together for a greater cause.

“Friends? We’re not friends. We are a Christian and an Emo. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.”

The words just slipped his lips. He was shocked about himself. ~~He wanted to take it back. He could not see the hurt expression crossing over Crowley’s face.~~ Crowley’s mouth twisted. It seemed he didn’t know what to answer.

“You do.” He finally croaked out, a hint of their former playful teasing wavering in his words.

Aziraphale couldn’t take it anymore. He just wanted to run away. Leave behind all his worries, the world that seemed to be falling apart around him, all the things he didn’t understand. He turned around, only to walk back towards Crowley.

“Even if I did know where the judge was, I wouldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides.” He hissed.

He was stupid. Now Crowley would know. He would know and he would hate him. This was the one thing he had been trying to avoid this whole time.

But it was better this way. It would be easier to let go.

“We’re on our side.” Crowley pleaded.

Aziraphale shook his head.

“There is no _Our side_ , Crowley. Never was.”

They stared at each other. Aziraphale felt like he was seeing the whole scene from another person’s perspective. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t really happening.

“Whatever we were…It’s over.”

Aziraphale felt empty. He had used up his ability to feel something. He was just barely holding together.

Crowley was unnaturally calm. His face was blank. Maybe he had gone on autopilot, just like Aziraphale. He chuckled gloomy, his hands moving through his hair again, because they didn’t know what else do to.

“Right. Well, then…” He grunted and turned around.

Then he hesitated for a moment, like he still wanted to say something. But he put it off. Aziraphale’s eyes burned.

“Good luck for tomorrow.”

The darkness soon swallowed him, the light of the lanterns seemingly fading with every second. Dark clouds towered in the sky, painting the night with preposterous shades.

Aziraphale knees gave in, as soon as the roaring engine of the Bentley had faded away in the distance. Desperate sobs shook his whole body. He was alone. ~~He had lost the only person he really cared about.~~ Suddenly he realised the cold, seeping into his bones and he shivered. He was corrupted. He cared about a person actively going against the ways of god. He had lied to his people. How could he ever make this right? He stayed on the cold stone ground even as his salty tears had dried on his skin and the first beams of morning sun already came creeping though the branches of the trees.

He was a sinner. It was time he confessed.

**************

Harriet Dowling had been very anxious about meeting Adam Warlock Young. And that wasn’t only because she hated talking to people in general. Adam Warlock Young had the reputation of being a complete and total asshole. And up until now he had lived up to her expectations.

Setting up the contract for him had been hard work, to put it nicely. He had constantly changed his mind, about things he wanted and things he needed and reversed every progress they had made. To put it in her husband’s words: He had been a real pain in the ass.

So, naturally, Harriet feared the evening of the sound check. But fate had already given her a respite and there was no way she could avoid this again.

The dreaded day came, the sound check took place. And to Harriet’s and everyone else’s, surprise, Adam behaved…kind of normal. He was silent most of the time, even a bit reserved. Not polite either, that would have been a bit of a stretch, but Harriet would work with anything that wasn’t a pompous arse.

When Harriet showed him to his back stage area he only nodded and accepted it.

Harriet’s friend Natasha leaned over and whispered into her ear.

“Oh. There is something you don’t see every day. An enormous room without a bar in it, and he doesn’t say a word about it.”

Harriet nodded. It felt a bit weird, this sudden change of heart, and she wondered what exactly had made him that way. Maybe it was some kind of miracle or magic.

Either way: Maybe the contest wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, writing this episode felt like some kind of trance. But I am weirdly proud of it. I just love their relationship. As you might have noticed the story is going to diverge a bit more from canon now.  
> For anyone interested [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cF3HvA5pdOk) is said performance of “Under pressure” by My chemical romance and The Used.  
> As always I’ have to thank Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake for listening to my bullshit. Check out their story [Ineffable adoption](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162094/chapters/66336151). It is really good. Also I would like to thank my friend Merle, who is always as excited about anything I do as I am. This one is for you, as I’m explicitly going to mention the word “juicy” regarding the description of this chapter.  
> I’m not sure if I’ll be able to upload another chapter before Christmas, but I will certainly try my best. Until then, I hope you all have a very nice December. :)


	4. Saturday Morning Funtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: substance abuse, depiction of violence, homophobia, description of panic attacks, mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts (I’ve marked the corresponding paragraph with a #, so if this is a problem for you, feel free to skip it)  
> Take care of yourselves.

**Saturday, the day of the band contest**

_Captain's log, Tadfield Police. We were patrolling south-southwest on course for Tadfield town square when we realised something was amiss. It appears a large group of young adults had formed on high street this morning. Strange people with banners and long hair had gathered and were shouting things about the government and responsibility at the civilians, who thought that this was some kind of art project. No need to engage further, as all seems to be nonviolent. They will be placed under observation, however.  
  
_

Pepper looked at all the weird people that were currently surrounding them. She scratched her nose.

“Adam, I still don't understand the thing you were telling us about nonviolent protests. If I wanted to get my points across, I wouldn't be going around giving messages of peace and goodwill. I'd say, " _This is a fucking mess. I will now set fire to your car_."”

She had a bemused look on her face, like even thinking about setting fire to a car made this whole operation worthwhile. Wensleydale nodded.

“I'd say that too, if I was interested in any of the things you have been saying.”

“Or, I’d just mind control everyone with the phone network, become prime minister and change the stuff myself.” Brian suggested.

Adam was standing between them, a little upset by their lack of investment.

“Obviously, we can’t do that. You know how all these people in the seventies used to protest against this stuff. They used messages of global peace and cosmic harmony, so we have to do the same. Everyone just keeps forgetting about it, because the government hushes it all up.” He said, his eyebrows ceasing together.

“Isn’t that a bit stupid. You know, taking an approach that hasn’t worked the first times around?” Pepper asked, crossing her arms before her chest.

She was beginning to get on Adam’s nerves. He was trying to make a really important point here and she would just crash in with her logic. He thought about it for a while.

“But that just because of the government.”

He was really proud for coming up with such a good explanation.

“It's what they do. They hush up all the shit about nuclear reactors and atomic waste, and that they keep cutting down the rainforest so we can eat more meat.”

Wensleydale frowned.

“Adam, I don't think they are actually hushing it up. I mean otherwise you wouldn’t be able to read about it on the internet.”

Adam was struggling at this point. He tried to remember the things he had read about in all of Anathemas articles.

“That’s because they can’t control the internet. Things like newspapers and magazines, they have power over them, can tell them what to write. This is the internet. There are far too many people for them to check everything they say.”

“Actually, I don't think newspapers and magazines are being controlled. It’s called freedom of press.” Pepper said snippy.

Adam was quite sulky at this point. He didn’t like his friends going against the things he said. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. They should support him.

“Yeah, but they are just saying it’s there. It isn’t really.” He said bluntly.

“You’re stupid. Do you really believe that's true?” Pepper said.

Adam huffed.

“Of course it's true. What I say is always true.”

*************

Aziraphale’s coat was crusted with dirt. His nose and eyes were red from crying and he hadn’t slept the whole night. It seemed to become a habit of his. He knew he should have gone home, have had a shower, or at least changed into a different shirt. Instead he lurched into the church, dragging his feet with every step. Only his fear was keeping him from falling unconscious from the exhaustion.

Of course Gabriel was already up. He was preparing the premises for the weekly Saturday morning prayer. He looked up as the doors slammed behind Aziraphale. His expression soon changed from shock to disgust. Aziraphale became to halt before him, too tired to care about any formalities.

“It's me.” He said plainly.

Gabriel smiled irritated.

“I know it's you, Aziraphale. You’re standing right in front of me.”

Aziraphale exhaled deeply. He felt empty. Also fragile. Like every word could shatter his incredibly thin protection.

“Yes. Right. Look, I need to talk to you about something…”

Gabriel stopped putting books of prayer on the benches. He sighed, looking politely tired, but actually Aziraphale knew he was just annoyed by his behaviour.

“I think we’ve been over this already. I don’t think there is anything left to say.”

“This is something different.”

Aziraphale’s felt his feelings creeping back up on him. They would overwhelm him, bury him under a thick blanket of desperation, if he couldn’t spill them out.

Gabriel folded his hands.

“Well in this case do tell.”

Aziraphale wanted to keep his eyes on Gabriel, searching them for some kind of concern or understanding. But Gabriel’s eyes remained cold and distant. His appearance must have been pitiful.

“Well, er, I know I have been…distracted. I’ve let my duties slip. But I have been consumed by…unholy feelings. There is this person… and I think…”

He gulped. He couldn’t talk any further. It was like his lips had been glued together. He couldn’t breathe.

Gabriel features softened.

“Aziraphale, I am glad you entrusted me with this. Let me assure you, I will help you to…cure you from these thoughts, whatever they may be, as soon as possible. But first we need to concentrate on the matter at hand.”

He smiled down on Aziraphale, like he was some kind of filthy creature. Some kind of mistake. Because that was what Aziraphale was. He needed to be cured.

“The band contest.” Aziraphale suddenly remembered.

It was today. A terrible cold gripped his heart.

“Exactly. Right on schedule.”

Aziraphale peeked up at him, nervously wiping over the dirt on his coat, so his hands would be occupied.

“It is still taking pIace? I just...I just thought there was something we could do.”

Gabriel grimaced in confusion.

“There is. We can play. And we can win.”

Playing. After all that had happened, it felt nearly impossible to even think about it. He would have to play against Crowley. Oh god, how could he ever look at him again? No, he wouldn’t think about him. Quickly he pushed the thoughts back to the depths of his stomach, were they shifted uncomfortably.

“But we don’t need to participate.”

Gabriel looked like he was seriously questioning his sanity at this point.

“Of course we need to. Otherwise, how would we win it?” He laughed.

It made a cold shiver run down Aziraphale’s back. Gabriel grabbed him by the shoulder, as he liked to do. Aziraphale would have liked to slap his hand away, but he was too terrified.

“Now look, go home, take a nap. Meet up with the rest of the band and...pull yourself together. You look pathetic.”

Gabriel was right. He looked pathetic. Some part of Aziraphale knew that Gabriel had no right to call him that. Some part was furious about the way Gabriel treated them. The other parts were only relieved that Gabriel hadn’t turned his back on him.

~~Rose petals on dirty ground. Sobbing. Crowley comforting a shivering figure.~~

“Come on. You're an ambitious, destructive music-machine.”

He patted his back pally.

“What are you?” He asked.

Aziraphale flinched.

“I'm...”

But Gabriel had already turned around, going back to his job of stacking the benches with books of prayer, still laughing about his incredibly funny joke.

Aziraphale thought of the many times Crowley had laughed about his kind nature. Not the mean kind of laugh, but the one with an affectionate sparkle in his eyes and a happy smile on his lips. A single tear dripped from his eyes onto the ground before him.

“I'm soft.” Aziraphale whispered.

************

Two invitations had been delivered. Two Horsemen were preparing to ride. The last two deliveries still needed to be made.

Lesley liked working for the Tadfield band contest Association. He liked the music. He liked the people, well most of the time that was. And he liked driving around in his van, meeting strange folks and delivering the invitations. He felt important. Something that he rarely did in his life. Only ever when he was looking after his cat, Maud.

Said cat was desperately clinging to his leg, as he tried to walk out the door.

“I can't, love. I got deliveries to make.” He said, trying to remove the small paws from his jeans as carefully as possible.

“Well, at least it's local. Two jobs and I'm done. We can watch reality TV and eat tuna together.”

Maud seemed offended by the suggestion, although the tuna bit sounded quite promising. She was sulkily whipping her tail. Lesley bent down to pet her smooth fur.

“I’ll be back soon, love. It’s for someone important. It’s an honour, really. They have been doing these deliveries for 50 years.”

Maud meowed accusingly. Lesley laughed.

“Well, the company's only 50 years old. So that is a lot of time, really. Anyway...ours is not to reason why. Ours...is to deliver invitations.”

He stood up, his knees cracking. He took the envelopes in hand. They felt heavy for some reason. He took a last look at Maud.

“I love you tiger.”

*************

Michael let out a slight cough. As always her hair seemed like it was concreted to her head. It was always perfect, not such much as a single strand out of place. She was a sophisticated woman, but her dressing style was still impeccable.

Gabriel looked up from his paperwork.

“I may be out of line here, but I've been following up on Aziraphale's odd behaviour during our last meeting. I’ve been asking around a bit...”

She pulled her phone from her excessive handbag and handed it to the frowning Gabriel. A small gleeful smirk lay on her lips. The screen showed two boys, sitting on a park bench. The photo was obviously taken in secret, because it was rather blurred and some twigs were framing the foreground. The one boy had curly white hair and was wearing a bowtie. The other one had red hair and was sprawled out across the bench.

Gabriel gave her a strained smile.

“I'm sure there's a perfectly innocent explanation.”

Michael shook her head, still smiling.

“'Course. Would you have any objection to me following this up using back channels?”

Gabriel mimicked confusion, but in his eyes Michael could see the same satisfied glimmer, she was experiencing herself.

“There are no back channels, Michael.”  
  
  


Ligur picked up his annoyingly buzzing phone. Normally he wouldn’t have picked up at all, since he was rather keen on getting drunk out of his mind. But then he had recognised the number on his display. It was most intriguing and very rare that this number would call him, of all people. He answered.

“It's me.” A voice on the other side whispered.

Ligur recognised the voice instantly. Well, most interesting indeed.

“Yes?” He said.

“It's our man Aziraphale. Is there any possibility he's been converted to your side?”

Ligur licked his lips. Aziraphale? He knew the unobtrusive boy from school, seen him several times. But he was weak and insecure, not someone to flirt with the ideas of their side.

“No.” He said.

There was a short silence on the other side.

“No? Well, then, you might want to investigate the activities of your man Crowley. Might be playing his own game. Word to the wise.”

Ligur growled. He didn’t like Crowley and normally he would have appreciated every possibility of taking him down for good. Maybe teach him a lesson, break a few bones, on the way. Who knew. But he had to be careful. The person on the other end was not to be trusted. He would never set her word higher than the one of any of the people on his side, even if it was Crowley.

“And how do you know?” He asked, his voice rumbling dangerously.

The person on the other end was not impressed.

“I'm telling you, you can't trust him.”

“And why should I trust you instead?”

There was an offended gasp.

“Of course you can trust me. I'm a Christian. I do not lie.”

The line went dead.

A vicious chuckle escaped Ligur’s lips. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life.

“Crowley. Crowley. Crowley. What have you been playing at?” He whispered.

*************

Crowley didn’t know how exactly he got home. The only thing he remembered was starring blanking at the ceiling, a big hole in chest, that felt like it was about to swallow him whole.

_It is over._

How could it be over? It hadn’t even really started yet. He had never told Aziraphale all the things he really wanted to say. How he really felt. It could not be over, because their…friendship, was everything that was left for him to cling onto. His lifeline in this great fucking sea of life that wanted to drown him on every possible occasion.

The hole twisted in his stomach, it was all consuming. He needed something to fill it up, to finally feel something again. The numbness was even worse than the pain. He stumbled over to his chaotic rack and pulled out the first bottle he could get his hands on. The liquor ran down his throat. It burned, it stung in his eyes. But he felt it. He felt the pain. He felt the sudden heat in his stomach. He took another deep gulp. Then he dropped back on the sofa.

He needed to get away. He had always been really bad at handling his problems, especially when it came to feelings. His problem with the alcohol kind of gave it away. His first instinct always was to flee and hide somewhere, where no one could ever find him. Maybe wallow in his misery for some time and hope that he would eventually choke on it. Dealing with the problem itself was never really his thing.

Also, what could he do? Aziraphale had made it very clear what he thought about him. Best to stay away forever.

He sighed and took on his phone.

“Where should I go?” He mumbled.

London was out. Crowley may have really liked the scene and the nightlife there, but he wouldn’t be able to afford rent for as much as dumpster. America was also out. He never liked the whole thing with the guns and the politics over there really sucked. Also he wouldn’t be able to take his car with him. Maybe something a bit closer? Cardiff? They had that whole thing with the rift in time and space going on. Still out though. He didn’t like their accent. Maybe Sweden. He didn’t know a single word of Swedish. But he knew that they had Ikea and those little cinnamon rolls that Aziraphale liked to eat.

Crowley threw down his phone with a frustrated groan. Fucking shit. It was like he was caught in an infinite loop and his thoughts would always gravitate back towards Aziraphale, like he would never find peace, that his smile would always haunt his dreams, even if there was a fucking ocean between them. Maybe Crowley should sign up for a space project or something. Alpha Centauri. That was always nice this time of year.

Crowley picked his phone back up and typed Alpha Centauri into the search bar. He looked at the pictures of beautiful nebulas that his phone’s silly little screen could not possible capture. Even though it was just a fragment of the real thing, he could almost feel the incredible energy radiating off them. He looked at the beaming colours, the amazing pattern and the twinkling stars and he wondered how anyone could have created something this beautiful.

If there really was a god, why would they put these breath-taking, astonishing things out there, only to then make them unreachable? Was god cruel? Was it their only purpose as a human to be laughed at for trying to achieve happiness? Or was it all some kind of test. An obstacle you had to overcome to proof worthy of your bliss.

The Great Plan.

“God, you listening?” Crowley felt kind of stupid, as he looked up at the ceiling, whispering these words.

“Show me your Great Plan.”

**********

Muffled music came from the bar on the corner. He could hear people laugh. In the old days, and it wasn't that long ago, really, this had been a cosy restaurant, small tables and wine racks everywhere. Courting couples came here to hold hands and to get all lovey-dovey in the light of burnt down candles. He never really cared about that sort of thing. He never really understood the appeal. He’d rather stay at home with Maud, have some nice Pizza and watch a rerun of some show he had already seen several times.

  
Now the place was crowded like anything, people pressing against each other with unnatural high amounts of alcohol in their blood. The once so quiet restaurant had transformed into a noisy bar, a karaoke machine being the highlight of ever Saturday afternoon, the people staying into the early morning hours, singing along very crookedly to some song they knew from their childhood and had originally always hated, but liked with the right stimulus from several cheap beverages.

They were sitting in a corner of the room, an evil smile tugging at the corners of their lips. Nobody sat next to them, nobody dared to even get close. They watched with great satisfaction as a woman entered the stage, taking the microphone from the stand into their sweaty palms. They could smell her fear, the way her eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for a way out. The microphone gave a squealing feedback noise and the woman flinched. Some people started laughing on the quite, mocking the way the panic crossed over her face. This made things even worse, her Adam’s apple nervously popping up and down and her eyes began to water.

“Party by the name of Chalky, sir?”

Lesley stood before them, sceptical eying their bleach white hair and their pale skin. They didn’t take their eyes off the involuntary singer, while their raspy voice sounded through the noise around them.

“Look at that woman.”

Lesley turned around, obviously glad to look somewhere else than their eyes, with pupils sharp as the ones of a reptile.

“Yes, sir. It's the insecurity. Stage fright, you could call it.”

They chuckled.

“It's just so...damn beautiful.”

Lesley gave them a compelled smile.

“Poor woman, their friend’s probably pressured her into this.”

On stage the song had now started and the woman tried to sing along with the lyrics, but her voice was barley a whisper. In fact it had not been her friends, but the stranger, whom Lesley was now talking to, who had tempted her into it. They were really good at that sort of thing.

The delivery man was still very nervous by their presence, so he started babbling about the first thing that came to his mind.

“It's a funny old world, though, isn't it? And no mistake. I mean, you go all over England delivering, and then you wind up practically in your own backyard, so to speak. I’ve made so many deliveries. And now here I am.”

He took out an envelope.

“And here's your invitation, Sir. You have to sign for it. There you go.”

Other than his two colleges Chalky stayed quite. They slowly took the pen and smudged something on the paper that, with a lot of fantasy, could have resembled a name. Then they slowly took the envelope.

“Well, it’s the final countdown, I guess.” Lesley said, referring to the song that was now playing. He tapped his cap and turned to leave.

They chuckled as their hands ran over the smooth paper of the invitation.

“Indeed it is.”  
  
The third of the Four Horsemen took over when Mrs. Fear retired. They've had lots of interesting jobs in lots of interesting places. Helped design a TV show that was based on tests of courage, had a fashion chain that sold clothes that made people very conscious about their body weight and then sold them the fitting diet program. They've killed as many carriers as Addiction or Desire. This was Insecurity.

Lesley stepped back outside from the stifling air inside the pub, into the fresh breeze of the dawning day. He took a deep breath. There was only one more envelope to deliver. He was about to walk back to his truck when a black sedan rushed around the corner and nearly ran him over. He tumbled backwards, finally hitting the pavement with his butt.

The car had halted directly in front of him. The windows were darkened, but still Lesley could see a shadow moving behind them. The door opened to reveal a very luxurious looking interior. There were seats with black leather, a mini bar and smooth red carpet on the ground. Someone was sitting inside, but their face lay hidden in the shadows.

“Get in.” A voice demanded.

It sounded so confident and so used to commanding, that Lesley’s body automatically reacted. He flopped into one of the leather seats and instantly sank in a few inches. The man, or at least Lesley thought it was a man, from the few parts that he was actually able to see, was leaning against the bench in a very peremptory, but also very casual way. It felt like every other presence in the room was drowned out by the sheer power of this person.

Lesley gulped.

“I think I've got a message for you, sir.”

Clothes were rustling as the man shifted in his seat.

“Deliver it, then.”

His voice was very deep, but not the kind of deep you would have expected from a person like him. Lesley couldn’t exactly describe it. He felt like he knew it. It sounded like the one from the politician he had seen on the TV only yesterday, but at the same time it sounded also like the one of his old boss. But then again it sounded totally different. It made unease run through his whole body.

“It's just this: _Come and see_.”

There was no sound from the other one, just the constant roar from the engine.

“What does it mean, Sir?”

The man laughed. It was dark and felt ancient, like it had been carved into this form in the very beginning.

“It's a call to action. Desire and Addiction. Insecurity and Capitalism. You ever heard of the four horseman?”

Lesley could almost hear his smirk.

“Today, we ride.”

And then Lesley was kicked out of the car, although he was sure that nobody had touched him. He fell onto the street and black sedan rushed off, only leaving a trail of equally black exhaust.

The fourth horseman never got an invitation. But then again, he didn’t need one. He always knew if something was about to happen. He had been around for years, prying as much money as possible out of the people, making him one of the richest and most influential people of the world. He was the living example for the foul techniques and ideals of economy and humanity. He was Capitalism.

**********

Anathema really wasn’t going to leave the house today. Maybe she was weirdly interested in what was about to happen, but really she was more tense the anything.

“No this is over. I won’t let it control my life.” She muttered as she checked the locks on her door again.

She was not being paranoid, she was just being careful.

The doorbell rang, which nearly made her faint from shock. No she wasn’t panicking, it had just taken her by surprise, that’s all. She told herself that it was too early for him to show up. Also he wouldn’t show up in the first place, because this wouldn’t control her entire life and her grandmother could go fuck herself.

It rang again. She cursed, peeking through the peephole. Outside were Adam and his gang. She felt relieved and bit more relaxed, but still a bit jumpy, so she only opened the door a bit.

“What is it?” She hissed, looking around the street nervously.

There was no one to be seen. Well, that was of course because nobody would come. Her grandmother couldn’t be right about everything.

Adam seemed a bit confused and leaned around the door to get a better look at her.

“What’s wrong? Haven’t you seen the anti-nuclear-power demonstration down the round? 'Cause I organised it.”

His chest swelled with pride. On any other day Anathema would have laughed about his weird crush on her, but today she only let out an acknowledging huff.

“Yeah, sure. It’s great Adam.” She said, not really paying attention.

She was too busy freaking out. Or rather not freaking out, but being appropriately tense.

Adam frowned. He had expected more gratefulness.

“Well, maybe you’d like to come down…”

“I’m sorry I can’t.”

Anathema slammed the door in his face.

Adam blinked in confusion. Anathema was behaving somehow oddly. She should have at least commented on how bad nuclear power was, as she was usually searching for any kind of reason to.

Pepper shrugged.

“Witches.” She said blandly.

**********  
  


Newton wished he could just coalesce with the walls, never to be seen again, because there was no way he was going to survive this day with this cap on his head. It was red, very sticky, with things Newton rather not think about, and it read _Teenage police_ in beautiful ugly letter. It was really a work of amazing craftsmanship that it turned out _this_ ugly. He would have taken it back down, if Shadwell hadn’t been marching up and down in front of him, seemingly very pleased with the role of the instructor. Only he was sure the cap was glued to his hair by now.

“Attention! This is our country. It's under our protection.”

Newton very much doubted that Britain needed any kind of defence from him.

Shadwell sighed dreamily.

“Wish I was going with you. I'm too old now. No more flitting from shadow to shadow, spying on their evil ways. It's all up to you now, local journalist Pulsifer. Find this Adam Young and keep an eye on him.”

Newton was certain, that Shadwell wasn’t really sad about this development. Probably he would be laughing his arse off, as soon as Newton had been sent on his way. He couldn’t blame him. If he thought about it, the whole move was actually rather stupid. Maybe he should stay here and drink some very nasty tea with Shadwell. On second thought maybe it actually was better to leave.

“Shouldn't there be a few more of us if we're keeping him under constant surveillance?”

Shadwell laughed.

“Nobody said it would be easy, local journalist Pulsifer.”

He grabbed something from the table behind him.

“Here. Binoculars.”

Newton sighed and accepted his fate.

“Binoculars.” He repeated soundlessly.

“Thumbscrews.”

“Oh, I-I don't think I'll…” Newton stuttered.

Shadwell glared at him.

“Thumbscrew!” He said and shoved the device in Newton’s hands more forcefully.

Newton rolled his eyes.

“Thumbscrew.” He agreed, but internally decided to never ever use them on anyone.

“Baton.”

“I'm not actually going to hurt anyone.”

“Baton!”

Newton groaned in frustration.

“Fine, Baton.” He said and took the wood in hand.

“Pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray.”

“Deodorant.”

“Deodorant.”

“And your manual.”

Newton wondered if Shadwell had ever actually met a real teenager or if he had only seen weird documentaries about them. Maybe he mistook them for criminal gangs or something.

“Pepper spray. Deodorant. Manual.” He nodded then frowned.

“What is the deodorant for?”

Shadwell huffed.

“You might have to improve their body hygiene.”

“How do I do that?”

“Spray them with deodorant.”

Newton wondered if this really was Shadwell’s idea of proper body hygiene. That would certainly explain a lot.

“But deodorant is not actually cleaning anything?” He said.

Shadwell glared at him, probably for even daring to oppose him.

“There'll be no time for a bath when you're under the attack of chemical warfare such as teenage smell, laddie.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other in uncomfortable silence. Newton couldn’t help for a small smile to creep on his face, as he recognised the proud glimmer Shadwell tried to hide behind the annoyance in his eyes.

Shadwell huffed again.

“Well, off to Tadfield, then. Off you go, local journalist Pulsifer. And may there finally be justice in our war against the evil forces.”

There were small tears in his eyes that he tried to wipe away as fast as possible. Newton smiled. As hard as Shadwell always tried to be repellent towards everyone, he still had a kind nature. Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

**********

Tadfield was a very small, sleepy town in the countryside. Golden fields lined the street that could have gone with a bit more repairing. As Newton finally entered the town, lovely clinker cottages with colourful flowers on the windowsills greeted him. It was quite nice. Newton could easily image himself settling down here with his family, if he ever was to have one.

He turned another corner and almost ran over a guy, who was holding up a cardboard. Newton slammed on the breaks. There man wasn’t the only one who was standing in the road. In fact the entire square was clustered with people, who were holding banners and signs and were chiming things Newton could not hear though the closed windows.

Someone tapped on the glass next to him. Newton yanked around his head, only to look in the smiling face of a woman with a flowery hairband. Newton winded down the window.

“Morning, sir, madam or neuter. You from around here, are you?”

Newton slowly shook his head.

“No, just visiting actually”

The woman smiled again. It was that kind of smile you gave someone, who you actually didn’t pay any personal interested in, but needed to be nice to, because society wanted you to.

“What is your opinion on nuclear power?”

“Um.”

Newton was not exactly sure what to say. He was used to people wanting to talk about God or maybe vacuum cleaners, but this definitely was a first one.

“There bad, I guess?” He said, although it sounded more like a question.

“So you don’t care about the acid rain build up, do you, sir? You don’t think the polar bears deserve to live?”

“Sorry? Weren’t we talking about nuclear power only a few seconds ago?”

“Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir, but our polar ice caps are significantly below regulation size for a planet of this category, Sir. But we’ll excuse your ignorance, if you try to improve your knowledge on the topic. Let this serve as a warning.”

Newton was not sure if this woman was trying to judge him, about a thing he had never actually denied, or if this was a new technique to trigger a feeling of guilt in him. Either way it left him more confused than anything else.

“A warning?”

“Yes, a warning of universal peace, cosmic harmony, and suchlike. Because that’s what we are. Peaceful. Very peaceful. Wouldn’t dare to set fire to your car, Sir.”

Newton chuckled nervously. He wondered if he should just drive straight ahead and hope for the people there to jump out of the way.

“Oh, that's very kind.” He said instead.

“Have you any idea why we've been so nonviolent, sir?” The woman asked.

“I suppose you wouldn’t want to corrupt the idea of your organisation and, er…”

The woman nodded sternly.

“Neither have we, sir. Neither have we.”

Newton was very glad, as she let go of his car’s roof and he was allowed to drive on. The cold sweat still ran down his back. Nobody had prepared him for this. Maybe it was best if he returned…He quickly grabbed his phone and dialled Shadwell’s number.

The old man stayed silent, while Newton recounted his story.

“You what?” He finally barked.

“I just got pulled over by very nonviolent but violent hippies.” Newton repeated.

“Did you see any piercings?”

“What? No, I didn't think…”

“You're a there for the bloody teenagers, not any hippies, lad.” Shadwell grumbled.

Newton sighed, why did he even think that this call was going to be helpful?

Shadwell let out another inaudible mutter.

“But I'll make a note of it.”

***********

Wensleydale was sucking on another ice pop. Where he always got them, nobody knew. He critically watched the still ongoing turmoil in their demonstration.

“Maybe it’s not the thing she actually wanted you to change.” He suggested.

Adam was still shaken by Anathema’s refusal to come out of her house. He had made this kind of effort for her and she didn’t even want to take a look? Rude that was, rude.

“Well, she talked about it a lot the other day.” He argued.

“Besides, what else would we demonstrate for?”

Wensleydale took this into consideration, licking thoughtfully at his ice pop.

“I don't know if this is in your girlfriend’s fancy internet sources, but I was thinking we ought to save the whales. Whales can sing, actually. And they have very big brains. And there's hardly any of them left.”

Adam blushed at the thought of Anathema being his girlfriend. Fortunately nobody commented on it, because otherwise they would have earned a very hard slap on the upper arm. Maybe he had been spending too much time with Pepper.

Pepper face there while had turned into an annoyed grimace.

“If they're so clever, what are they doing in the sea all day? Just swimming and eating things and singing and…”

A look of unwanted realisation crossed over her features.

“Oh, my God, I want to be a whale.”

“No you don’t want to, because then you would be dead.” Wensleydale objected.

Pepper rolled her eyes.

Adam hadn’t really listened to the whole swimming and eating part. He was stuck on another idea of his. His lips twisted into a smile.

“Right. We'll save the whales, then. All of them. That will surely get her attention.”

And that was how on this very day Tadfield did not only see their first protest ever to be held in their city, but also their first double protest, with the forces of the anti-nuclear-power protestors and the protestors against whale hunting aligning. Local authorities were confused about the sudden interest of the population towards these topics, but of course they didn’t know about the magnificent love story pulling the strings in the background.

*********

On the other side of town, Hastur and Ligur were sitting in their shared apartment. It very much resembled the one of Beez only a few streets away. It was dark, it was dirty and very much not cozy. An unpleasant draught went through the leaky windows. But that wasn’t the only thing leaky. Currently there was water dripping from the ceiling and a rather big blob had formed on the wallpaper.

Ligur kicked an empty bottle that was lying on the ground. It spun a few times, creating an awkward scratching noise on the tiles.

“I've been thinking...about Crowley. Something's not right.”

Hastur was holding a bucket, glaring angrily at the water damage, as if it could be fixed by only directing enough hatred at it.

“Oh, look at this. I meant to be getting ready to go to the concert to meet the judge. I wanted to wear my finest leather jacket. You know the one with the Black Veil Brides patch. I should be leaving now. Instead, I'm standing here with a bucket, waiting for maintenance to come fix another bloody pipe.”

He cursed again as another blob landed on his shoulder.

“But yeah you were saying, Crowley. What's Mr Slick done now?”

He wasn’t exactly sure if was to direct all his aversion at Crowley or the ceiling.

Ligur ruffled through his greasy hair.

“I'm not sure. But I know it's nothing good.” Hastur shrugged.

“Oh. Well, that's alright, then. He's not meant to do good.”

Ligur threw him an annoyed glance. He slummed on the sofa and kicked up his feet on the coffee table. Well, not so much a coffee table but more of a beer table really, because that was the only thing consumed on it.

“Figure of speech. Nothing bad, then.”

Hastur’s eyes sparkled.

“Nothing bad? So...he's in trouble?”

He licked his lips in anticipation. He could already imagine Crowley begging him for mercy on the dirty ground while he was hovering above him with a baseball bat. Well, that really brightened his day.

Ligur chuckled dangerously.

“He's definitely in trouble. Or he will be.”

“We paying him a visit?”

Ligur shook his head.

“Not yet. You know how Beez is about this shit. We can’t just take matters in our own hands. We need proof.”

A vicious smile crept on his lips.

“But once we've got it, he's toast.”

Hastur’s body was trembling with gleeful desire

“Oh man, do you think I can break his Vinyl collection? Or use shampoo on his hair?”

Ligur chuckled at his excitement.

“Well, we’ll see. Why don’t you just hand me that bucket over there and get ready for the concert?”

Hastur gave him a thankful glance.

“Right, to the concert.” He said.

***********

The reason why Anathema wouldn’t want to come out of the house was a very simple one indeed. After spending so many years learning the lyrics from the book, she had, to her great demise, remembered most of them. And so she also remembered the very specific one that had been talking about this very day. And she was damned if she would come out of the house and just accept her fate.  
  


_"When blue chariot inverted be  
on the day everything is played in key  
a man that from nose had bled  
be upon your softest bed  
aching his head  
for tears he had not shed."_

Newton was still trying to find his way around the city. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than the map on his phone, so maybe that was why he didn’t see the woman, which was trying to cross the street directly in front of him. It was the last minute that he was able to yank around the steering wheel, exhaling a breath of relief, as he missed her by a few inches. That moment didn’t last lost though, as he was now driving straight at a very solid looking lamppost.

The last thing Newton was able to think about, before they collided, was that people should please stop walking in front of his car and if this was a town full of suicidal people, because surely this couldn’t be a coincidence anymore.

“He's hurt. Come on, we should do something.” Someone was mumbling.

Or maybe they were not mumbling and Newton just had cotton in his ears. That would certainly explain the dull feeling. But not exactly the pain that spread through his entire body, as he tried to move. Colourful lighting shot through his eyesight as everything went blurry.

“We should get him away from the car. It might blow up. They do that on telly.” Someone else was now saying.

“Dick Turpin won't blow up.” Newton objected.

His tongue felt very thick and furry. He also tasted something metallic. He tried to keep talking, as his head couldn’t keep up with the things happening around him.

“You're probably wondering why it's called Dick Turpin. Well...” 

Then everything went black.

*********

It was on very rare occasion that Hastur really felt happy or contented. Today was one of these days.

He had, thanks to Ligur, made it to the concert in time, and was now waiting for his important guest to arrive, while the band was setting up their equipment on stage. Loud music was already blasting through the room anyway. Hastur recognised it as that one playlist that played before every concert he ever went to.

He smiled. It wasn’t a smile that made other people smile as well, or let them think he was actually happy, if they ever were to see it. It was a one-sided, sloppy, slimy smile that made people lock their doors twice in the evening and maybe grip the hands of their toddlers even stronger, if they walked past him on the street. Most of the time they would be right about their feelings, because normally Hastur would only smile, if there was some kind of bloodshed or pain ahead. But today they would have been wrong.

Hastur was indeed wearing his favourite leather jacket, which fitted him perfectly and made him seem slick and sneaky. His hear was a greasy mess on his head, that feel into his eyes just the right way and the dash of his eyeliner was perfect. He happily inhaled the smell of beer and sweat.

This was going to be a great day. He would finally meet the judge. They would finally triumph over the Christians. And last but not least he would probably get the chance to beat up Crowley afterwards.

_I got my hand upon the throttle, holding up a broken bottle  
Ready to cut you up and gut you like a fucking avocado_

Ronny Radke conveniently sang in that exact same moment. Ligur’s lips twisted into an even bigger smile.

“Oh yes Crowley, one big avocado.” He whispered gleefully.

**********

  
There was banging on Anathema’s door. Then muffled voices.

“Anathema, we found a man!”

Anathema recognised Adam’s voice. He seemed excited. She peeked through the door again. Of course she hadn’t been sitting next to the door the whole time, to check if someone was walking past, like some paranoid freak. She had only been resting on the comfortable ground in the hallway.

There was Adam’s unkempt black hair again. She really wished he would go away. She was having an existential crisis here. What did it even mean they had found a man? How could you _find_ a man?

“He was in a car accident.”

Oh shit. Of course Adam would be the one the pull her into this whole mess. She cursed, but opened the door a bit. She couldn’t see much, but it really seemed like they were carrying a man, leaning him on Pepper’s and Brian’s shoulder.

“Go away Adam. Get him to a hospital.” She hissed trough the gap.

Adam stepped closer, his eye hovering in front of the slit directly in front of hers.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just let us come in. He needs rest.” He said.

“I know. That’s why I’m not opening the bloody door.” Anathema spit.

She was not afraid per se, she was a punk she was afraid of nothing, but the whole situation made her mildly uncomfortable. She knew what would happened if she let them inside. Her grandma would be right ( _again_ ) and everything would come crashing down. If preventing the end of the world meant, she had to turn down a poor guy that had been in a car accident, she sure would.

Pepper stepped forward, aching from the weight on her back. Her angry stare could have burned a hole through wood, without Anathema opening it for her.

“Just open the bloody door. You know what your doing is denial of assistance, right? We could sue you for that.” She groused.

They were swaying dangerously, Pepper and Brian trying to keep the man between them on his feet.

Anathema studied the parts of him she was able to see through the slit. He had black, curly hair, a small nose and very prominent glasses. Also he was wearing a rather ridiculous cap. He looked very haggard, blood dripping from his nose on her pavement.

She sighed. Really, if she only helped him, and send him away as soon as possible, it would do no harm, right? She reluctantly opened the door.

“Okay, fine, whatever. Come in. Let's get him upstairs.”

They strolled in, Pepper and Brain cursing and panting, carrying the dead weight up the stairs.

Anathema exhaled deeply, hugging her chest with her arms, wondering if she had just made the biggest mistake in her life.

Adam walked over to her, smiling brightly.

“It's almost like you were expecting him.”

Anathema huffed.

“I was. I was hoping he wouldn't come. If he didn't turn up, maybe none of it was real. But if he's here...then the world is going to end.”

It was the first time she actually admitted it. She felt her stomach drop. It was about to happen and she had no idea how to stop it. Actually, maybe she had just started the whole process. What was she supposed to do? Was there anyone who she could ask? Really, her parents had been preparing her for this all her life, but she still felt so unarmed. She was barley an adult. How was she supposed to deal with something like this? Her breathing has rapidly increased.

Adam didn’t seem to notice. He frowned.

“The world is going to end?”

Anathema forced a smile on her lips. She couldn’t have a full breakdown in front of these strangers now.

“No. It's nothing. Nothing you need to worry about, anyway.”

She had hoped that Adam would leave after this. That he understood that Anathema had other things to focus on. But he only stood there, looking a bit lost and nervous. He fiddled with his hands.

“I was wondering, if you’d maybe like to have dinner with me later?” He asked, his eyes glued to his shoes.

Oh fuck. A hysterical giggle escaped Anathema’s lips. Of course Adam would choose this of all days to ask her out on a fucking date. Like she wasn’t already a nervous wreck. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t fuck this up.

Adam was still shyly smiling at her.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I really appreciate your efforts, but…you’re not my type really.”

Adam’s smile crumbled. Anger was radiating off him.

“How could you? After everything I’ve done? I’ve organised a protest for you! I have organist two protests for you!”

Anathema was speechless for a few seconds. Then she felt the same anger, Adam was probably experiencing, boiling up in her. All the pressure she had been pushing down the last few days suddenly broke free.

“What’s your fucking deal? You do something nice for me and I am supposed to kiss your ass? That’s not how friendships work Adam!”

She was breathing heavily.

Adam looked surprised and maybe also a bit intimidated by her fury. He didn’t say anything, but his fists were clenched.

“Get out!” Anathema pressed out between gritted teeth.

Pepper and the others had been standing next to them for a few second now, but Anathema barely noticed.

“Come on Adam.” Pepper said and led him outside by his sleeve.

Adam movements were unnatural, nearly robotic. His anger seemed to keep him in some kind of lock. Then he shook free frim Peppers hand and ran away.

Anathema threw the others a last angry glace and slammed the door after them. She had other things to worry about. The man currently lying in her bedroom for example.

********

Brain watched as Adam quickly disappeared around a corner.

“Adam's a prick.”

Pepper and Wensleydale turned to face him, surprised by the fact that Brian would actually say anything and then something this offensive as well.

Pepper rolled her eyes.

“Don't be wet.”

She too felt some worries nagging inside her stomach. But she wasn’t Adam’s mother and she sure wouldn’t be lecturing him on the right thing to do.

“Actually, he has always been a prick.” Wensleydale said thoughtfully.

A car drove past them on the road. They were still standing in front of Anathema’s door, not sure where to go. Pepper was the first one to walk away, the other two quickly catching up to her.

“Oh, you know what I mean. You must do.” Brian muttered.

He wasn’t exactly sure, why he had said it in the first place. The others were right, up until now it hadn’t really bothered him, that Adam was always being such an arsehole. Still something felt wrong somehow.

Pepper tilted her head.

“He's Adam. He’s the King himself.”

Brain nodded, his hands were shoved into his pockets and his gaze was lowered to the ground, like it always was, when he was thinking.

“Yeah, but the way he treated Anathema. I mean that was next level shit. He's not the same anymore.”

He heisted, then stopped walking and turned to the others.

“Can I say something stupid without you thinking it's stupid? I was scared he would go all berserker mode on her then. Like hit her or something.”

“That's stupid.” Pepper said.

Wensleydale stayed silent for a bit.

“Actually, I felt that too.” He said.

They turned another corner, just to suddenly stand in front of their friend. His face was still red with anger and he was panting furiously.

The Them felt a sudden fear creep up on them as the saw the mad glimmer in his eyes.

“Adam?” Pepper asked cautiously.

But Adam wasn’t listening.

********

“Honey, I'm still not clear on what we're doing here.” Harriet Dowling hissed at her husband.

Of course on the outside she remained smiling brightly.

They were at a concert, that was, to put it nicely, very bad. The music sounded more like some kind of weird torture, all the sounds coalesced into a horrible puree. Also it smelled very much like piss and vomit.

“This is life as an organizer of a famous band contest. Conventions of society. One moment you're putting things together, the next you are advertising the event in the target group, befriending possible volunteers.” Her husband hissed back.

Harriet gritted her teeth. She felt like she was already half deaf from the noise. Also they felt really out of place with their formal clothing, as everyone else was wearing at least some kind of extraordinary style.

“But why is Adam here then? It doesn't make any sense.”

“I thought it would be nice to do something, you know, as a family.”

Harriet pursed her lips. She leaned closer to her husband, silently screaming into his ear.

“Is this because I said Adam was more sensible than you? Oh I bet it is.”

Thaddeus wanted to stutter an answer but was saved, however, by a boy with white fuzzy hair, holding out a hand to them and smiling very irritably.

“I'm Hastur...La Vista. I will guide you through this concert. Which one of you is the organizer?”

Harriet starred at his yellow teeth and the dark circles under his eyes. Oh, how she hated people.

Her husband kept an unaffected smile on his face and took the boy’s hand.

“Thaddeus Dowling, at your service. My wife, Harriet here and I are doing the organizing part together.”

Harriet gave him a smitten smile as well.

“An honour.” 

Thaddeus quickly let go of Hastur’s slack hand and in an unobserved moment wiped it on his pants. Hastur was focused on something else anyway. He had spotted Adam, who was standing next to the Dowling’s, seemingly enjoying the show.

“Oh. You must be Adam.” He swarmed, his voice slimy.

Adam beamed at him.

“Very pleased to meet you. I’m always glad to meet so many nice people.”

Hastur laughed.

“Funny man. Nice people. Always love a good joke, me.”

Adam looked at him a bit irritated, but then also gave it an uncertain laugh.

Hastur’s faces twisted back into a slick slime.

“I've heard a lot about you. You like to play music, yeah?”

Next to them Mr. Dowling coughed slightly.

“So, Hastur, I understood from your message that this band is called “The Killstrikes”? The music really fascinates me…”

Harriet wondered how someone could talk about something, they didn’t actually like, like this. Was it some kind of superpower that you had to unlock?

Hastur meanwhile glared at Mr Dowling. Maybe he didn’t like small talk either.

“Will you shut up? I’m having an important conversation here.”

Now her husband seemed irritated as well. Maybe you had to unlock yet another level for rude teenagers.

“No I do not really like music.” Adam admitted, still smiling though. “I’m more into accountancy.”

Hastur blinked.

This really wasn’t going the way he had been planning. Even his best leather jacket couldn’t change that.

“Accountancy?” He said baffled.

Adam nodded, delighted that someone would actually want to talk about his job.

“Yeah. I had a few job interviews the last couple of month and I think I’m really getting the hang of it. I’m really looking forward to actually working.”

He had a spark in his eyes, that no human before had shown towards the thought of a job in accountancy.

“But…are you not here for the band contest?” Hastur stammered.

Adam frowned.

“No, actually I am not. Only heard about a couple of days ago.”

The smile was back on his lips.

“Harriet and Thaddeus over there are the organisers. How cool is that, right?” He laughed.

But Hastur was already trapped inside a prison of his burning hatred. He knew this could only mean one thing. This boy wasn’t the actual judge. And that meant, that a person, whom Hastur already had a great personal interested in murdering gruesomely in, was behind all this. A person, whom Ligur had already warned him about.

Hastur could already feel rips breaking under his shoes. The noise in the background had zoned out into a dull throbbing, leaving only Hastur’s pure rage.

“Crowley…” He whispered.

*********

Crowley was watching John Wick. He was not entirely sure why. Maybe it was because he thought that Keanu Reeves was sweet and rather good looking. Maybe it was because he liked the idea of murdering people, after they had taken away something you loved. Or maybe it was because one of the guys, that got his brains blown out, looked a bit like Gabriel. His head rested uncomfortable on the seating surface of the sofa, but he felt too tired to change his position.

While the blood was still splattering on screen, his phone started ringing. Crowley took the call without thinking about it again. Maybe he should have. Hastur’s voice sounded very murderous, like he was about to jump through the line and cut his throat.

“What the fuck is going on, Crowley? What have you done?”

Oh well, they had found out at last. Crowley knew he should have been afraid, but he only felt weirdly empty. It didn’t actually matter what happened to him. It couldn’t get any worse than this. Maybe it was for the best if they just ended his miserable existence, so he would never have to think about Aziraphale again. Pain flashed up in his chest. Fuck, of course thinking about Aziraphale would still have to hurt so damn much, while thinking about his coming destruction felt familiar and logical. Fuck his whole fucking life.

“Hastur. Hey. Not following you. How do you mean?”

They both knew that was a lie, but maybe it was best to keep up appearances. Maybe that would alleviate his pain. It wouldn’t, but no shame in trying. He was a fucking coward after all.

“The boy...The fucking judge. You know who I am talking about. I took him to the Killstrike concert. He was very nice.” Hastur snarled.

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Oh for fucks sake, I hate the English language. How many times will people want to make that joke?”

Crowley knew he shouldn’t have messed with Hastur this way. It was a bad idea. But if he was to be fucked over then be it at least on his terms. He had to keep all the control he could, even if it meant he would have to pay with blood. Yes, he had some things to work on, mind you. His therapists were cactuses (or cacti?) after all.

“You know what you did you fucker. You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history. And I mean that literally. You better start running, because I will break every bone in your fucking body.”

The line went dead.

Crowley kept watching the movie, because he had nowhere else to go.

*********

Anathema was keeping a very large distance between them. She wouldn’t want for the guy to get the wrong ideas about her.

He still looked a bit baffled, bruises on his face and blood running from his nose. He was sitting on Anathema’s bed, his legs clutched to his chest. Actually he looked kind of sweet. But surely that was just Agnes getting into her head again.

“You are local journalist Newton Pulsifer, right? You go around and collect naughty things that teenagers have done and then beat them up or something.” She said, putting as much mistrust as possible into her words.

She eyed him cautiously. He didn’t really look dangerous, his curls were scattered over his head in a really adorable way.

“Er... I'm not actually a real journalist. There aren't really any evil teenagers or possessed teenagers or anything.”

Newton thought about something he could say, that didn’t make him sound like a freak or pathetic looser.

“I'm actually a...sound engineer. I just needed something to get me out of the house.”

Anathema still stayed in the door. She would not come any closer. Even talking to him was dangerously stupid. But on the other hand she also needed to find out more.

“Hmm. I'm Anathema Device. I really an evil teenager.”

She took a deep breath trying to overcome the panic in her chest.

“I think there is something I need to tell you. It's about you. It will save time.”

She began reciting the verses about the blue car and the bed and yeah well all the rest. Newton stayed silent through the whole thing, too stunned to say anything.

“I…” He stuttered.

Anathema could very much relate to his disbelief. She constantly found herself in the phase of denial.

“That's you, the car crash.” She explained, finally taking a few careful steps in his direction.

Her arms were protectively crossed in front of her belly.

“Have you ever heard of Agnes Nutter?”

Newton shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

“She is my grandmother. One of your ancestors arrested her. Well, tried to at least.”

“Ancestors?”

“Chief Major Pulsifer.”

“Hmm.” Newton grunted.

Anathema had the feeling that he too wasn’t on really good terms with his family. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she shouldn’t judge him by the things she already knew about him. She shook her head, trying to chase away the thoughts.

“Well anyway, I took your stuff so you’re not going to use pepper spray on me or anything.”

“I'm not actually up for hurting anyone, I think.”

Anathema could have told by just taking one look at him. He looked like a gigantic teddy bear more than anything else. But of course she couldn’t say that.

“I know. Agnes would have told us if you were. She wrote all these prophetic lyrics in a book.”

Newton raised his eyebrow. Maybe that wasn’t a better thing to say, when you wanted to sound sane.

“Did she know I was going to crash my car?”

“Yes. My family has been trying to figure out the collection of Agnes's Nice and Accurate lyrics for years now. You could say we're professional descendants. Or at least my parents are.”

It felt somehow very good to talk about it with someone, who was as affected by the prophecies as she was. Adam of course had helped her, but this Newton was way calmer and prudent and he actually understood what she was talking about.

“How many lyrics are there?”

“Thousands. It averages to about a lyric a month. Or more now, in fact, as we get closer to the end of the world.”

She gulped. The words left a bad taste on her tongue.

Fear and confusion sparked in Newton’s eyes. He was shifting on the bed uncomfortably. Anathema couldn’t blame him.

“When is that supposed to be?” He asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Er... in around four hours and 15 minutes.”

The panic had already settled in her bones as she had begun to understand, that this was actually real and very much going to happen. But talking about it as a fact was still something completely different. It made a shiver run down her spine.

Newton laughed nervously. He pushed his glasses up his nose. Anathema thought the movement really fitted his character somehow.

“Oh, come on. The world isn't really going to end today.”

Anathema sighed. Her walls crumbled and she sat down next to Newton, pulling her legs close like he was still doing.

“The end of the world starts here, where I am, this afternoon, according to Agnes. I thought it was never going to happen…that maybe Agnes just made a mistake. But now you’re here and…it must be here too.”

Newton awkwardly lifted his hand, like he wanted to pad her back reassuringly, but then though better of it.

“It?” He asked instead.

“Yeah, it. I don’t know. The reason that starts all this bullshit. It’s supposed to be around here somewhere.”

She felt hopeless and small, sitting on her bed like this. She started reciting the familiar lines that she had cursed about so many times. How was she ever going to set this right? She had wasted so much time already.

_“Armageddon will start where the Hogge's Back ends,_

_While watched by helpless friends,_

_And Adam's future will end regardless_

_in burning fire and painful darkness.”_

To her surprise Newton did not look shocked, but rather thoughtful. He was biting his lip, which also fitted his character very well. Anathema should write a character study about him. Yes she was only noticing this for her research. Because Agnes wouldn’t be right about this. She couldn’t be right about everything after all.

“Hogge's back. Adam Young. And his address is number four, Hogback Lane, Tadfield.” Newton mumbled.

Anathema frowned.

“What did you say?”

Newton looked up at her, his eyes blurry through the thick glasses.

“Adam Warlock Young. He lives at 4 Hogback Lane. I was told to keep an eye on him.”

Anathema froze. Suddenly everything felt pretty cold.

“How did you...? Oh, I didn't-Shit.”

She had jumped to her feet and was now pacing the room. This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t have set hell loose on earth. No this must all be a misunderstanding, yes.

“Adam, that's...that's crazy. He's not important. Him and his friends were the ones that brought you in here, I mean, he's just a guy really.”

Right, Adam was just a guy. He couldn’t possibly end the world somehow. She was being ridiculous. 

But then she remembered the fury that had raged in his eyes. He remembered the waves off anger radiating off him. What would he be capable of?

She looked at Newton, fear clutching her stomach.

“I mean, shit, I just gave him a brush-off.”

**********

“Come on. We’re going to the contest now.”

Adam’s features were blank, like a fuse had blown in his head, and everything that was left was this inhuman shell.

Pepper shook her head. Her normally so enraged presence had taken damage. She took a small step back.

“We don't want to go with you.” She still said with frim believe.

Wensleydale nodded.

“Actually...I agree with Pepper. Not after how you acted with Anathema.”

“You were being a prick.” Brian added helpfully.

Adam looked at them, his eyes unfocused and his expression wary.

“There's no point in going home. It doesn't matter. That's all done now.”

The Them took another step back. They were trying to be as silent as possible, because it felt like Adam was about to snap at anything.

“Didn’t you listen to me just now? We don't actually _want_ to go with you. Not until you’ve apologised to Anathema.”

Adam’s face yanked around towards her, sudden anger sparking from his eyes only to defunct instantly again.

“You do. You know why you're all coming with me, Pepper? Because you are my friends. You are supposed to come with me. And we will go there and have fun. We will crush all these bands under our heels, giving them the worst day of their lives, when they finally see the feedback they have been waiting for all this time. And we will crush their hopes, their dreams, their future and laugh about their pathetic sorrow.”

His nostrils were blaring with every word, as he was breathing heavily.

Brain took a careful step towards him, thinking about putting a calming hand on his shoulder, but then only hovering it in the air between them.

“Adam, this is all wrong. I'm not going to do that with you. You can’t just take out your frustration on other people.”

Adam glared at him.

“But you are.”

Now Wensleydale took a step forward as well.

“It isn't actually funny. This is people’s life you are talking about.”

Pepper, too nodded sternly.

“Wensley's right. It's a stupid. You’re stupid. And you're being weird.”

She screwed up her nose.

“You’re projecting your own insecurities on other people. And also it is actually your fault that Anathema snapped at you. You were being an arsehole. So get fucking over it.”

Adam turned around, his back facing them. He was silent, but a scary coldness was radiating off him.

The Them exchanged nervous glances.

“Well, if you don’t want to come I will have to take more drastic measures…”

Adam’s voice was low and threatening. The one you would expect a movie villain to have, but somehow it was still his voice somehow. It was very frightening. The Them never had seen him like that.

“How do you feel about being kicked out of the band?”

**********

The door of the church burst open. Crowley steps were quick, almost flying over the marble tiles on the ground. The people were staring at him, but he barely noticed it. Everything he could focus on was the head with white curly hair, standing next to the altar. He was panting as he finally made his way.

“Angel! I'm sorry. I apologise. Whatever I said, I didn't mean it.”

Some gasps were audible from the crowd, silent muttering started. Fuck, he had just called Aziraphale Angel in front of the whole church. Well so much for keeping this under wraps.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything, he just stared at him, his mouth slightly agape.

Crowley, still panting, threw his arms around in frustration.

“Work with me, I'm apologising here. Yes? Good. Get out of here.”

Aziraphale blinked, finally snapping out of his shocked state.

“What? No.”

Crowley felt desperate. He really needed to get Aziraphale away from here. He couldn’t be without him. Why couldn’t he see that?

“Hastur figured out it was my fault. But we can run away together. Sweden, Germany, Italy. Lots of other places to go. Nobody would even notice we’re gone.” Crowley pleaded, his fear, he normally tried to hide so well, oozing from his words.

Aziraphale’s lips were trembling again. Crowley felt terrible for always being the one to make Aziraphale cry like this. The only thing he wanted was to make him happy. _To be happy together_.

“Crowley, you're being ridiculous.”

Aziraphale threw a nervous glance at the people still watching them, then to Gabriel who was watching the whole thing with great aversion. Of course Aziraphale wouldn’t speak up in front of them. What had Crowley even been thinking? Actually, he couldn’t remember what he had been thinking.

“Look, I-I-I'm quite sure if I can just-just reach the right people, then I can get all this sorted out.”

Crowley sighed. He felt like he was having the same conversation over and over again. When would Aziraphale finally recognise, that not everyone had the best interests at heart?

“There aren't any right people. There's just my people and your people, not listening to a word you have been telling them.”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale averted his eyes and looked down on his hands, which were fiddling with the weird religious thing, he was holding, and Crowley didn’t know was for. “And that is why I'm going to have a word with the bishop, and then they will call this off and fix everything.”

Crowley would have liked to slam his head against the white column next to him. A frustrated groan escaped his lips.

“That won't happen. You're so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Aziraphale looked back up into his eyes. They were blue and watery and sad and fuck Crowley couldn’t handle this right now. Not in front of so many people.

“I forgive you.” Aziraphale whispered.

Something very heavy started clinging to Crowley’s chest. He felt like someone had punched him in the guts really hard. It hurt. But not as much as it used to do. Maybe you developed a certain tolerance after a while.

Crowley turned on the heel, marching towards the still open doors.

“I'm going home, Angel. I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving. And when I'm off eating cinnamon rolls in Sweden, I won't even think about you.”

It was a lie. Everything he could ever think about was Aziraphale. Every house, every tree would remind him of their time together, his smell lingering in the air to soon be forgotten. But somehow Crowley hoped that this hurt Aziraphale as much as it did him. Because if it hurt the way it was hurting Crowley, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stand it anymore, would call after him and everything would be fine.

But of course Aziraphale didn’t feel the same way. How could it ever hurt him, if he didn’t even like him?

The faces Crowley walked past were blurry, but of course that was just from the speed of his walking and not from the tears dripping from his eyes.

Suddenly he heard Gabriel’s disgusting chuckle.

“Well that was most enlightening.”

Crowley froze.

“Care to explain Aziraphale?”

A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine.

There was another evil chuckle. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t need to explain. But I sure hope you except your punishment.”

The entire colour faded from the world. Crowley never turned around so fast. In fact it was so fast, he couldn’t even remember he had turned around in the first place.

Everything was suddenly very dark and somehow all the people around them were gone. All he could see was Gabriel clutching Aziraphale’s sleeve and raising him into the air.

Aziraphale looked terrified, his feet uselessly kicking a few inches above the ground.

Crowley’s pulse was racing. What had he done?

He wanted to scream, run towards them and shove Gabriel away. But he couldn’t move. His feet were glued to the ground, as terror rushed through his veins. It felt like he was inhaling fire. His breathing became too fast, too painful for his lungs to cope. He was suffocating.

The only thing he could see was Gabriel’s insane smile and the fear in Aziraphale’s eyes as his fingers closed around Aziraphale’s throat.

Then his doorbell rang and he fell off his sofa, still panting and the fear tightly gripping his stomach. It took him a few seconds to realise where he actually was. He was in his flat on the floor. He must have fallen asleep. The cold ground beneath him was weirdly soothing.

The doorbell rang again, and finally Crowley staggered to his feet. He felt faint and exhausted.

Crowley drew nearer to the door. He was very careful not to make a sound, taking careful steps and avoiding the litter on the floor.

He took a look through the peephole, only to instantly recoil. He immediately recognised Hastur’s dirty white hair and Ligur’s back thatch.

Hastur raised his Hand to ring the doorbell again.

“Crowley! Crowley!” He screamed.

Crowley wondered when the neighbours would start complaining.

“We only want a little word with you. We know you're in there.” Ligur curred in a sickly sweet voice.

Crowley didn’t move. He didn’t dare to breathe.

Hastur started kicking against the door. The old wood gave in only slightly, but probably it wouldn’t take long for it to crush beneath his heels.

Crowley hurried back to the living room, trying to bring as much distance as possible between them. His thoughts were racing. Now that he was actually presented with the real thread the emptiness and calmness had left him. Fucking traitors. What could he do?

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

He had to get away somehow. Suddenly he remembered a very specific bottle, which was currently sitting in his bathroom shelf.

“Crowley!” Hastur screeched again.

Crowley threw himself towards the bathroom door. Everything happened way too fast for Crowley’s brain to catch up. The first moment he was perching on the bathroom floor. The next moment he stood in the living room, his plant mister in hand, feeling very ridiculous and very dead indeed. He heard the wood of the door splintering.

“In here, people.” He called and hoped his voice was steadier than he felt.

This was a stupid idea. He would die a very painful death.

The two Emo’s crept around the corner. Hastur had a very contented smile on his lips and was swinging his favourite baseball bat. Was that blood on the wood? Or was Crowley just hyperventilating.

They tried to surround him. Before anyone of them could make a move, however, Crowley pressed the lever on his plant mister and a thin ray of water and shampoo mixture shot from the gland. A few bursting bubbles accompanied the liquid.

Although Crowley had never been an expert at the whole shooting part, the beam hit Ligur right in the face. Soon his hair was soaked, water dripping into his eyes. His eyeliner was smutched. The smell was disgusting.

Ligur screamed. He gripped his hair and tried to keep it dry somehow, rubbing the water from his curls, trying not to harm his grease, but making everything worse in the process. Also he had shampoo in his eyes, and you know how that feels. He tried to scrub it from his eyes as well, as they were already watering and bloodshot.

It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so terrifying at the same time. He ran around the room with another pained cry, and then he stormed out of the room.

Crowley now turned to Hastur aiming the plant mister at him. He smiled.

“Hi.”

Of course Crowley felt really cool and badass as he watched the fear in Hastur’s eyes. Of course he wanted to congratulate himself on his very good idea. But maybe he should wait with that until he actually was alive and well, because the weight of the plant mister revealed to him the inconvenient fact, that there wasn’t any water left.

Hastur was there while having a mild panic attack. He pointed in the direction that Ligur had run, disbelieve showing on his features.

“That's-that's-that's shampoo water! I can't believe even an Emo would-would-would…Shampoo in water! That's-that's...His grease of the last years will be destroyed.” He gasped.

Crowley stopped himself from making a snark comment on the fact, that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Hastur was still stammering.

“But-But he hadn't done nothing to you!”

Crowley shrugged. “Yet.”

His hand was still clenched around the plant mister and he was very glad he had something to hold onto, because otherwise his hands would probably have been shaking.

“You...You don't frighten me.” Hastur said, but Crowley could see in his eyes that he was lying.

Plain fact was that most of the Emo’s only tried to act though, but really they were cowards just like him. So Crowley did what he was best at. After all these years, where he had never shown a great talent towards different sorts of violence, you start to go looking for alternatives. And oh, Crowley was very good at his alternative.

“Do you know what this is? This is a plant mister, cheapest and most efficient on the market today. You saw what it can do. Do you really want to lose your precious grease as well?” He insistently aimed the water at Hastur’s head.

Hastur hesitated.

“You're bluffing. There can’t be much water left in there.”

Crowley held back a wince. He had to stay cool.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Ask yourself: Do you feel lucky?”

Hastur took a close look at him. His eyes were taking in every feature, piercing right through his skull. And Crowley couldn’t help but look away in panic. He knew he fucked up, when he saw the grin spreading on Hastur’s lips.

“Yes. Do you?” Hastur mocked.

He took a step in his direction.

Crowley looked around desperately, trying to think of anything that could save him now.

“Time to go, Crowley.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Crowley!”

It was Crowley’s landlady Mrs. Cook. She really couldn’t have chosen a worse situation to come knocking at his door. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about how rude his behaviour must look to her, because he wouldn’t live long enough to actually see it.

Hastur took another slow step in his direction, seemingly enjoying every moment of this torture.

And suddenly an insane idea formed in Crowley’s head. Oh, he was so going to regret this.

“Don't move!” He screamed. “There's something very important you need to know before you disgrace yourself.”

Hastur stopped dead in his tracks, confusion crossing over his face.

“Crowley, what is all this noise-“ Mrs. Cook called from the hallway.

The door probably wasn’t an obstacle anymore, so she just strolled into the flat. He had to hurry.

Quickly he twisted his lips into the biggest smile he could manage.

“Well, you've definitely passed the test. You're ready to start playing with the big boys.”

He laughed, like this was all some kind of hilarious joke. He wasn’t a very good actor, but then again Hastur, wouldn’t know what good acting was anyway.

He still seemed very confused by the whole situation.

“What? You're insane.”

“Our people had to make sure you are trustworthy. We knew there was a traitor in our midst so we had to investigate everyone. And, Hastur, you've come through with flying colours.”

Hastur looked dumfounded.

“Me?”

The steps were now very close to the living room. Time for the great exit. Crowley edged over towards the door, very carefully, so Hastur wouldn’t notice. The whole time he kept smiling. His muscles were already hurting from staying in this position for so long. (Maybe that should have been concerning as it meant that he hadn’t smiled a lot in his life so far.)

“Now, I-I wouldn't expect you to believe me, Hastur. But why don't we talk to Satan, right? Let's see if he can convince you.”

He grabbed the handle of the door.

Hastur suddenly looked very pale.

“Satan is here?” He breathed.

Crowley nodded most convincing.

“Yes, he is…”

He pushed down the lever. The hinge crunched.

“And he says…”

The door swung open to reveal the small Mrs. Cook, who was looking at both of them in awe. She very much didn’t look like Satan.

“Oh, hello Mrs. Cook. I’m unafraid I won’t be able to join you for tea this afternoon, but this gentleman here was very keen on experiencing your famous biscuits. So maybe the two of you can just have a nice chat.”

And then without waiting for any kind of response, he stormed out of the door.

You're probably wondering where Crowley has gone. That’s the easy part. He was running towards his Bentley to get away from his flat as fast as possible. That trickier question is: What happened to Hastur? One would assume Emo’s aren't bound by the unwritten conventions of society. Let’s go into more detail.

Over the years, a very small number of philosophical man-hours have been spent debating the question: "How much small talk do Christians actually do?" To answer it, we need information. Firstly, Christians always talk to whoever seeks to talk to them. It's one of the distinguishing characteristics that marks a Christian, being friendly towards any stranger. At least that’s the idea. So, all of them. At least, nearly all of them.

Aziraphale had always had a certain reluctance towards costumers, who came into his parents bookshop and were looking to buy books, which he himself hadn’t had the time to read yet. After a while, he had become fairly good at driving them away, and was quite delighted every time, he was able to keep away a precious book from their smudgy fingers. So providing the conversational partner was a costumer, the answer is a straightforward "all of them but one".

Then again, you might just as well ask how much small talk, Emos actually do. They're of the same original stock, after all. And they have to do it at least sometimes. Not what you'd call good conversation, though. For Emos, as for Christians, as for any other person on this world, the conventions of polite communication are binding.

So, if you take another look at our situation, the only problem Hastur was facing now is the highly motivated old Mrs. Cook, who would have liked to spend the whole afternoon sipping tea with him, and the fact that he couldn’t deny her offer without seeming rude. So that's where Hastur was going. He was going to have a very exhausting afternoon, having tea and dry biscuits with Crowley’s landlady. 

**********

Aziraphale was walking down the street towards his parent’s bookshop. He hadn’t been at home, instead he had been wandering the city, his troughs trailing down very dark paths. He didn’t want to go home. His parents would be there, and Aziraphale knew, that confronting them would be the last straw for his shattered courage.

So instead he walked towards the book shop. It was a Saturday so no one would be there. Maybe the peace and quiet would help.

Suddenly he bumped into someone. He had been so deep in though the he hadn’t noticed the person right in front of him. He wanted to look up and apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat as he looked directly into Michaels cold eyes.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Panic swept through him. What did she want from him?

“Oh, Michael.”

Suddenly he felt two other people approaching him from the side.

“Uriel. Sandalphon. Hello, erm...”

He took a step back, only to collide with a solid wall. He was cornered.

“We've just been learning some rather disturbing things about you.” Michael smiled.

Aziraphale had never seen such an honest expression on her face. She was really, actually happy about him stepping out of line. He felt his heart hammering in his throat.

“You've been a bit of a naughty Christian, haven't you? Consorting with the enemy?” Uriel said, stepping even closer.

She was so close, it was actually uncomfortable. Aziraphale tried to press a little more into the bricks.

“Oh, I-I-I haven't been consorting.” He stammered, but inside of him all hell had broken loose.

They knew. They knew what he had done and they would punish him.

Uriel chuckled. She too seemed very contented.

“Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will come and safe you.”

Aziraphale jumped. His boyfriend? Were they talking about Crowley? Oh no, this was all a misunderstanding.

“He-He’s not my boyfriend.”

Michael stiffed a laugh.

“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Fact is that you are a bit too gay for my liking.”

_Gay_. It was a very weird feeling. Aziraphale of course knew the word, he knew what it meant. And he always had tried to keep as much distance from it as possible. But standing there on the street, cornered by people, who apparently hated him, he finally understood why that was. He had repressed all of this for so long. And of course Michael had to be the one to finally open his eyes. _He loved Crowley. He was gay_.

“Gay?” He breathed.

The word felt weird on his tongue, like he tasted it for the very first time.

“Aziraphale, there’s no point denying it.”

Aziraphale felt like laughing and crying at the same time. On the one hand he felt incredibly relieved to finally understand what had been going on inside him for the last couple of years. It felt good to finally admit his feeling. On the other hand he was terrified. Terrified because he knew this was wrong. Terrified because he knew this was a most horrible sin. And then he was desperate, because of course he had to come to terms with this, after he had pushed Crowley away. After he broke his heart.

He looked back into Uriel’s eyes.

“I've-I've actually been giving that a lot of thought. The, erm, the whole gay being a sin thing. Erm, what I think is that there obviously has to be normal love. Like-like the love most people experience. But then again that’s-that’s for them. Isn’t love, _love_ , no matter which way you express it? Would the almighty give us these kinds of feelings, if we weren’t to live after them?”

He peeked at them, from below, hoping to see any kind of uncertainty in their eyes. But their faces were cold, not a single regret showing.

“You think too much.” Uriel said.

And then Sandalphon punched him in the gut. It was unexpected. And it hurt. Aziraphale always knew that Sandalphon didn’t like him. But they were Christians. How could they do this?

“You...you mustn't. Why would you do this? We're the good guys.” He stammered, while he bent over the ease the pain.

“I have to warn you that-that I'm going to talk to Gabriel about this...”

Michael laughed.

“You really think Gabriel will support you in this? You're ridiculous. It would be a disgrace for our community.”

Aziraphale was still blinded by the pain in his abdomen. He expected another punch, but the others were already retrieving.

“See you around Aziraphale.” Uriel quizzed the most casual way.

And then Aziraphale was left sitting on the cold pavement, hand clenched to his chest and his whole world had been crushed to pieces.

********

The Them and Adam had there while reached the youth centre. Nobody had said a word on the whole way here. Somehow they were still hoping that they could change Adams mind, get him to see what he was doing.

Adam sighed contented and spread his arms over the back rest of the sofa.

“Seems to me it'd only be fair if the contest crushes all their hopes and dreams. You know, think about it. No one ever helped us getting to popularity. It was all hard work. So why would anyone help them?”

The Them sad on the sofa opposite him, stiff and not knowing what to do. This wasn’t their Adam. This was a weird nightmarish version of their friend.

“Adam, these are people, who love playing music. You can’t just take this away from them. Speaking as a devoted musician myself, I'm against it.” Pepper said.

Adam shrugged. “They'd be fine. After a while at least. Or they won’t. Doesn’t matter really. At least we’d have less opposition like that.”

Wensleydale threw the other two a worried glance. It didn’t seem they were getting through to him.

“Adam this is not about Anathema. These people did nothing to you.”

Adam’s face clouded with anger.

“Oh, of course this isn’t about Anathema.”

Somehow his mind had twisted all of this into a plan that made very much sense in his head. Everything would be great.

“Adam, please, this won’t help you feel any better.” Brain tried again.

Outside he still seemed very clam, but on this inside his feelings were rushing around like water in a washing machine.

Adam smiled.

“But, don’t you see, it will.”

He felt at peace. His rage and hurt about his conversation with Anathema were still spiralling around in him somewhere, but knowing that he could do something about it, made everything less painful. And of course destroying these band’s futures would do something about it.

“Adam, what are you doing?!” Pepper said, fear lingering in her words.

Adam frowned and took a look at his watch.

“The four horseman are coming soon. You'll like them. They're a lot like you. Well actually they’re better than you. They're gladly going to help me make this happen. Unlike you.”

“Adam, you behaving completely irrational.” Wensleydale cried.

Adam thought about it. Maybe he was. But it didn’t matter. They would soon understand.

“You wait. It's going to be wicked.”

*********

“So we find this Adam, and then what do we do?”

Newton looked at Anathema with big eyes.

“Stop him. Because apparently, he will bring about the end of the world.”

She still wasn’t over the fact that Adam Young would actually be the beast she had feared all her life. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen yet. Maybe there would be another Anathema, another Adam. It didn’t really look like the end of the world. It was a normal Saturday.

“Yeah, about that. How do you know, he is going to end the world?” Newton asked, screwing up his nose to push his glasses back up.

“You know what Armageddon means, right?”

Newton tilted his head.

“So, we ask him nicely to stop?” He asked uncertainly.

Anathema cursed and got up from the bed. She hadn’t thought about that yet. All her life she had been avoiding anything concerning this very day, and now she was unprepared. She didn’t want to do this. Couldn’t the earth just magically safe itself?

“I don't know. Agnes doesn't say.”

She looked down, her cheeks red from embarrassment, which didn’t happen often.

“She goes off on stuff about...you and me.”

Newton looked at her dumbfounded.

“Like what?”

Anathema hated herself for even bringing up the topic. This had been what she had wanted to avoid at the first point.

“Oh, stupid stuff. You...you don't want to know.” She tried to quickly change the subject. “Hogback Lane isn't far from here.”

But Newton had jumped to his feet as well.

“Hold on! I'm not an idiot! What do you mean us?”

Anathema sighed. Actually he had a right to now.

“She…she said we would…you know…have sex.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. When Anathema looked up, she found that Newton’s ears had grown pink as well.

“Well…um.” He said plainly.

Anathema felt like the embarrassment would strike her dead on the spot. This was why she never trusted her ancestors with her relationships.

“Well…I mean if you would want to…”

He looked so adorably awkward, his lips slightly agape and his cheeks flushed. Anathema chuckled softly.

“It’s very nice of you to ask, but I think I’d rather get to know you first. You know, going on a date, grapping popcorn from the bowl at the exact same moment and our fingers touching romantically.”

Newton straightened his shirt, his cheeks turning ever redder.

“Yes-yes-yes…of course.”

Anathema chuckled again. Newton wrenched his hands and finally looked at her.

“So what do we do now?”

Anathema knew they should be going to Adam’s house. Stop him from bringing about the end of the world. But maybe she was selfish, maybe she was stupid, or maybe both. But she didn’t want to. She didn’t care if the world ended. Agnes couldn’t tell her what to do. She was gone, dead, whatever. She had no power over her life. And if Anathema really wanted to get together with Newton, then she would do it on her own terms.

She smiled.

“What do you say, we do that date thing today. I’ve heard there is band contest in town. Could be fun.”

Newton nodded, trying to hold back his excitement.

So Anathema grabbed her coat and they walked outside together.

In the void of a nearby forest a faint chuckle was audible. Because everything was turning out just the way Agnes had foretold it.

*********

Shadwell was sitting in his kitchen again. Actually he had not been planning to do anything than sitting in his kitchen the whole day. But the radio was currently blaring and it made his blood run cold.

“After the riots over the last fear years Tadfield’s commission has decided to reinforce the police protection of this year’s contest.”

He barely noticed the door opening. Madam Tracy walked in with a tray with tea and some biscuits.

“I made you a nice cup of tea. I made it just the way you like it. Nine sugars and condensed milk.”

“Awa' wi' ye, ye traitor…pusher...” He said, but his heart wasn’t in it like usual.

Madam Tracy rolled her eyes.

“Oh, Mr Shadwell. You say the nicest things.”

She put down the tray on the table. That’s when she noticed his eyes were kind of zoned out, a frown on his forehead.

“Everything all right?” She asked.

Shadwell slowly turned to her. His eyes were full of fear.

“I've sent him into the jaws of doom.”

Madam Tracy set down and reassuringly patted his hand. She knew this trick from talking to her customers. To her great surprise Shadwell didn’t yank it away.

“Who?”

“Local journalist Pulsifer. Aye, he's just a lad. I let him go alone. I should have gone with him.” He shook his head, desperation and guilt flying off him.

Madam Tracy pursed her lips.

“Well, he's just having a nice day out.” She reassured him.

But Shadwell wasn’t listening to her. He had stood up, pacing the kitchen restlessly.

“I'm a bad man and a worse chief editor. I cannot believe I let him go alone. I should go to him.”

Of course Madam Tracy had always know that Shadwell had a good heart, even though he tended to berate her most of the time. And yet she thought that it was a bit late for him to finally find his courage. She sighed. She needed to support him nonetheless. How could she not?

“There's a train to Tadfield.” She suggested carefully.

“I can't get there on my bus pass. There's not funds for a train ticket.”

With Shadwell it always came down to money. She knew she would never see her money again.

She knew this was a bad idea. Still she pulled her purse from her pocket and handed him fifty pounds.

Shadwell stared at the money.

“Oh, I'll not travel on money that has come from teenage hand.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved it into his hand.  
  
“Well, you can pay me back later, if you have the money. Then it would be like it never was my money after all, so you won’t have travelled on teenage money. Just ask one of your costumers. What about one of those nice men that called?”

This didn’t make any sense at all, but then again Shadwell was just searching for an excuse to take the money, so he nodded.

“Ye that makes sense. It’s for a greater cause after all.”

He nodded and reluctantly took the money.

Madam Tracy smiled.

“I think the mysterious guy won't give me an advance. I don’t even know where he lives. I think he's Mafia.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“But the one in the bookshop might be a soft touch. Aye, he's got money.”

He took his coat.

“Even now, young Pulsifer could be suffering unimaginable tortures at the hands of those young devils. I can't imagine what he's going through.”

He nodded again, as to reassure himself that what he doing was perfectly logical.

“Aye, we can't leave our people in there. They could be doing all manner of things to him right this moment.”

In Tadfield at this moment, Anathema and Newton were walking hand in hand over the streets, Anathema laughing about some stupid joke Newton had made. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other. The sun shone down on them, the birds singing a happy melody and none of them was thinking about the end of the world. And maybe that was what torture looked like.

***********

“But, please, Adam! I don’t want to do this! I don’t even want to be here!”

Adam was still casually leaning on the couch. He frowned at this remark. Maybe he didn’t hear the urgency in Wensleydale’s voice. Or he just didn’t care.

“But you want to be here. Here, with me. We’re best friends. We do everything together.”

Pepper jumped to her feat. Even though she was scared by the fury raging in Adam’s eyes, she also was furious herself.

“Adam, I don’t want to be your friend anymore!”

And just like that with a snap Adam’s calmness was gone. He jumped to his feet as well. Towering over Pepper and the others dangerously. His face was red from anger and he pointed an irate finger at her.

“Shut up!” He howled directly in her face.

But Pepper only leaned closer, showing him away with her hands. The air was vibrating with anger.

“You are being stupid! Just stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

Her voice echoed through the room, turning into a raging chant that drove into Adam’s skull and made his head hurt. He was confused. He was alone. He didn’t understand why he felt like this.

“Stop talking! You all have to stop talking now!” He screamed, but it was more of a sob.

Pepper didn’t stop though. He pressed his hands over his ears to stop the noise from hurting him so much. He sank to his knees. Sobs shock his whole body.

“Everybody, stop talking!”

**********

Aziraphale stared at the receiver in his hand. A few minutes ago everything had seemed rather logical. Now he was questioning, if this really had been a good idea. He did trust Gabriel to do the right thing, problem was, what if the right thing turned out to be rather…well, inconvenient for him? Was he allowed to safe himself from his deserved punishment? Shouldn’t he accept it gratefully? Maybe he should just scout Gabriel’s wisdom, so he could decide what to do afterwards?

His hands were shaking as he dialled the familiar numbers. He knew for sure that Gabriel didn’t know the phone number for the landline in the bookshop, so he wouldn’t recognise it. His heard hammered against his chest, as the phone started dialling.

It clicked.

“Hello. This is…um, actually it doesn’t matter. I'm looking for, erm... guidance.”

His mouth was dry and a sallow taste lay on his tongue.

There was nothing but silence on the other side. The only thing Aziraphale could hear was a soft knock on the door to the bookshop. He had made sure all the costumers stayed outside. He couldn’t have them running around in here, while he had to concentrate on putting everything right.

“We’re closed!” He called over nonetheless.

“Is there anybody there? This really is frightfully important…I, erm...I-I-I need to speak to priest Gabriel.”

His voice was tremoring, as was his whole body. He felt cold, even though it was mildly warm inside.

There was some clattering on the other end.

“Yes, hello, awfully sorry.”

Of course Aziraphale instantly recognised Gabriel’s voice. But he had to cover his tracks.

“Am I speaking to...Gabriel?”

His heart had started beating rapidly against his chest again. It was tight and unpleasant and he felt faint.

“Yes, you are speaking to the priest Gabriel. To speak to me is to speak to God.”

Aziraphale wondered distantly if God would ever be happy to be represented by someone like Gabriel. But was he to question this? God had chosen Gabriel, not him.

“I-I want to complain about the conduct of your community members.” He stuttered, feeling like he might throw up any minute.

“But the-the important thing is something else… I need your help with something.”

He started fiddling with the telephone cord. His hands were sweaty. He was really glad he didn’t have to see Gabriel’s eyes right now. They were probably full of annoyance about him being this useless and stupid.

“So you said. I’m here to offer my help to anyone, who needs it.”

Aziraphale took a deep shaky breath. He felt fuzzy, like the fear had melted away all his protection to the outer world.

“I have this friend…Male friend, I mean. And I-I-I…I think I might be…gay.”

There was dead silence. Aziraphale was suffocating, the heaviness of the situation pressing down on him and threatening to crush him with all it’s might. What had he done?

Finally Gabriel coughed slightly.

“I see...and what exactly to you want me to do?”

And that was when it dawned on Aziraphale. He didn’t know. Gabriel had told him, that he could cure him, make him a better person. But in fact, Aziraphale didn’t want to be cured. He felt fine the way he was, well most of the time anyway. And he knew that was wrong and that it probably was just the evil parts speaking out of him. But he wanted to be accepted. He wanted Gabriel to tell him, that it was fine. That he was fine the way he was and that everything would work out nonetheless. But he was a fool to believe this.

“Ah. Erm...I hoped you could, erm, reassure me in my believes? Because after all God loves every one of us, don’t they?”

There was silence again.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank.

“I am in no position to support such blaspheming practices. I am not able to forgive you, if you come to me not to confess, but for support.”

Aziraphale gulped to regain his voice. His eyes were watering and his hand had clenched around the telephone.

“But God forgives everyone?” He breathed.

“I am very sorry that you are this confused about your believes, but I assure you, that neither God nor I do support such things. If you want you can join me in church and maybe we will be able to sprout these…sins.”

His voice oozed with disgust and anger.

Aziraphale felt his legs giving in under him.

“Yes, I’ll come over in a jiffy. Two shakes of a lamb's tail. Just a-a couple of things left to tie up.”

He didn’t hear the line click. The phone had already fallen from his hands.

“Yes. Jolly...jolly good.”

His body was shaken by intense shivers. He didn’t have the power to climb back into the chair next to him, so he stayed on the ground, hand wrapped around his legs and rocking back and forth.

For the very first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. He was alone. There was nowhere left to turn. He had pushed Crowley, his only friend, away and quite possibly destroyed their friendship forever in the process. He had fucked up his relationship with Gabriel by merely existing. He was wrong. God had made a mistake in creating him.

#

And while everything around him was spiralling out of his reach, while the control over his choices slipped from his hands like sand, a thought began to form in his head.

Why should he stay here, were everything hurt this much? Wouldn’t it be better if he just left? It wasn’t like anyone would miss him anyway. His tears died down. In all the darkness the idea somehow suddenly felt crystal clear.

He got to his legs, which still were wobbly, but felt steadier from his new found purpose and direction. He went into the backroom. He knew his parents kept a glass of painkillers there. His dad had problems with his back, so he needed to take them any other day.

His parents. They would probably be happy to have him out of the way. He had always been a burden on them.

He took the container, the pills clattering happily in it, and strolled back to the telephone. If he was about to go, he could at least say goodbye. This time his hands were steady as he picked up the receiver.

He had never felt so sure about something in his life. He placed the pills next to him on the table, the white casing shining promisingly.

He didn’t notice Shadwell, who was peeking through the mail slot. His eyes widened as they fell on the medicine. He immediately took out a bobby pin and began poking in the lock.

The line clicked.

“Hello. This is Aziraphale…”

He felt detached from his body, as if he was floating a few feet above himself.

“ _Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style._ ”

Of course he wouldn’t answer his phone if Aziraphale called. Aziraphale had told him that it was over. Hopefully he would listen to the message at some point. Still, it felt good to hear his voice a last time.

“I-I just wanted to say goodbye. And tell you I’m sorry. I wish I was a better friend to you. I hope you find someone that treats you the way you deserve to be treated.”

He took a shaky breath.

“Well then…goodbye Crowley.”

He was about to slowly put down the phone, as the door bust open. The device cluttered from his hands to the ground.

#

Through the door stormed a very upset looking man. His eyes gloomed with insanity.

“You little devil! You’re selling drugs from this bookshop! Just wait, till Mr. Fell finds out about this!”

While mainly being scared out of his mind, Aziraphale also felt very confused. He frowned.

“Chief editor Shadwell?”

Shadwell stood dead in his tracks. Then his face grew even redder.

“You are Mr Fell! You are a teenager! Seducing me into helping you with your foul little schemes.”

He pointed an accusing finger at Aziraphale.

“Oh, I think perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else.” Aziraphale said, while taking a step back.

“You are dealing drugs and I will call the authorities.”

Aziraphale quickly scooped the pills from the table. All of this was threatening to slip from his control _again._

“No, please, please don’t call anyone. You-You don’t understand.”

Mr Shadwell had taken a very old looking phone from his pocket and was dialling with a stern face.

“Nine.”

“I'm honestly not a drug lord. I-I don't know what you think you saw, but-”

The words were tumbling around in Aziraphale’s brain. Fear was gripping him tight. If his parents found out about this, before he got through with it…Oh, everything would just be even worse. Maybe they would finish the job for him.

“Nine!”

“Please, you-you-you have no idea. This is going to hurt the both of us.”

“Nine!”

Shadwell’s finger was now hovering over the call button.

“Oh...fuck.” Aziraphale whispered.

He threw Shadwell a last panicking look.

It felt like someone had pushed Aziraphale under water. He was trying to gasp for air, but everything around him was trying to push him back down. It was cold and it was deadly and it was black and it was too much for him.

So he did the only thing his brain could come up with. He returned to his most basic instincts and ran away, out into the cold rain that had started to pour from the dark clouds. He ran and fell over his own feet, colliding hard with the pavement, but he quickly got back up, his clothes ripped at his knees and blood oozing from the wounds the stones had left. The water was stinging cold and his knees hurt, but he didn’t really notice it. He felt dull and tired and he would have very much liked to just curl up here, sink in a deep dreamless sleep. But he had to keep going, he had to get away. Panic was controlling him.

So his feet led him to the only place, which had ever offered him some form of comfort and kindness.

There might be these days, were everything just comes crushing down, were the universe just feels like tearing you apart. It may feel like everything has turned against you, and that nothing will ever be the same. But over time humans noticed that a disaster rarely stays alone, that it never rains but pours.

So on this fateful day, as Aziraphale hurried out of the door and Shadwell followed closely after, it happened that nobody made sure that the front door of the book shop was safely locked. Quite to the contrary, Shadwell slammed the door regardless and the slam caused a candle that Aziraphale had lightened earlier to tip over.

It rolled a few feet until finally colliding with a stack of books. After a bit of hesitation the flames happily licked at the dry paper and consumed it like they had been ravenous for centuries. And soon the whole bookshop, the shelves, the records and papers on the ground, the dusty curtains, everything was on fire.

And between all the heat and smoke, on the ground, slowly turning black from ash, lay the receiver, still unanswered, and Crowley’s desperate voice was calling for Aziraphale to please pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel really bad for hurting Aziraphale like this, but I promise it’s going to get better in the next chapters.
> 
> The lyric bits in the scene with Hastur are from “Rolling stone” by Falling in reverse. I just really wanted to make the avocado joke somehow, and then this song came up and I just had to choose it. Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> As this story is also partly about My Chemical Romance it feels only appropriate to wish you all a very happy anniversary of them doing nothing it all for a whole year.
> 
> If you want to chat about Good Omens or just need someone to scream about My chemical romance with, feel free to visit me on [tumblr](https://walkingcontradiction42.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Otherwise I wish you all very Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year. :)


	5. The Doomsday Option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: substance abuse, DUI, mention of homophobia, mention of anxiety and panic

Crowley had never been going this fast in his entire miserably existence. Aziraphale’s voice still rung in his ears. _Goodbye Crowley._ No, no, no, no this would not happen. He leaned even more onto the gas pedal and the Bentley cut another corner with squeaking tires. The state he was in could not be described as panic. No he was way beyond panic. It was pure terror. He gripped the steering wheel even tighter, his fingers aching under the immense pressure.

He tried to call Aziraphale again. Of course he shouldn’t be phoning while driving (and if Aziraphale was here he would tell him so), but then again he shouldn’t be driving at this speed anyway. But this was an emergency. He had already tried to call him at least 50 times. It was the same answer every time. _Please hang up and try your call again_. He threw the phone down next to him.

He felt helpless. He couldn’t go any faster, but what if in this exact moment Aziraphale had gone beyond saving? Oh fuck, it was all his fault. He should have been a better friend, noticed his odd behaviour. Fuck, fuck fuck. Crowley thoughts were spiralling out of control. He turned on the music, so he would have something familiar to calm him down a bit. It didn’t work.

_Way down, mark the grave  
Where the searchlights find us drinking by the Mausoleum door  
And they found you on the bathroom floor_

The shape of Aziraphale’s shattered figure appeared in front of his eyes. Limbs in an unnatural position, stiff on the cold tiles of the bathroom. Dark red stains around him, forming a pattern of deathly beauty.

_I miss you, I miss you, so far  
And the collision of your kiss that made it so hard_

It was too much. He started smashing on the player, but the music didn’t stop. His knuckles were covered in blood though. Silent tears were dripping down his cheeks. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t lose Aziraphale. Not after all that had happened. He would not allow it. He would be there and he would fix everything and then he would finally tell him how he felt. Yes, everything would be fine. He gritted his teeth and turned the last corner.

His Bentley abruptly came to a stop. The street was blocked by fire trucks. People were running around and shouting orders. And behind all of it was a solid wall of flames. It took Crowley a moment to finally understand the horrifying truth. The bookshop was on fire.

He jumped out of the car, leaving the door open, still blasting the tunes of my chemical romance through the whole mess of people running around and water being fired into the flames. He nearly fell over his own feet as he sprinted towards the scene. He could only think of Aziraphale. He was still in there. He needed to get him out.

He stormed past some very confused looking fireman and sprang over the barrier with ease. Someone called after him, but his words fell on deaf ears. Soon Crowley could feel the heat burning on his skin, charring the little hair on his arms, and the smoke raging in his lungs. He coughed but didn’t stop. He needed to get inside.

“Aziraphale, where the fuck are you, you idiot?”

He coughed again. It was getting very difficult to breathe. He looked around furiously, but he couldn’t find anything that remotely resembled the shape of Aziraphale.

“I can't find you!”

Pressure was building up in his throat. He felt his desperation growing with every shape that only turned out to be another pile of smoke.

“Aziraphale, for God's-For Satan's-Ah! For somebody's sake, where are you?!” 

His breath was rattling and he felt like he was burning up from inside. But he needed to keep searching. He needed to find Aziraphale. He couldn’t let him down. Not like this. He stormed deeper into the perspirations of hell. At least that was what he planned to do.

Then he was suddenly tackled to the ground. Someone put him over a muscular shoulder and he was carried away from the flames. Crowley kicked, screamed and hit the back, he was suddenly facing, with his fists, but it had no effect. Also he was currently very much gasping for breath so maybe he wasn’t really a worthy opponent. Finally he was set down by a very angry looking fireman.

“Sir, you can’t just run into a fire.”

“But my friend! He is still in there!”

Crowley throat felt sore from all the smoke and his eyes were watering, although probably not only from the fumes.

“I am sorry, sir, but we couldn’t find anyone inside.”

A sob escaped Crowley. He was too late. The fireman handed him a blanket.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” Crowley hissed at him.

He felt vulnerable sitting there like this. Vulnerable and small, so very small. And he really needed to be on his own right now. He didn’t need other people poking around in his feelings. He didn’t even know what to feel himself. He would have liked to hit the guy. First he kept him from running in there and saving Aziraphale and now he was asking him stupid questions.

“I am sorry.” The fireman said, before he got up and walked back to his colleges.

Crowley threw some very nasty comments after him. It made him feel only a little better. He should have left him burn into a pile of ash in there. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with his guilt and sorrow now. Crowley shivered, putting the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“You've gone. You’ve left me.” He whispered.

He was too exhausted to actually cry. The sounds of the fire were still raging in his eyes. A single tear dropped from his eyes onto the soot-smeared blanket. His breath shook as another whisper left his lips.

“I lost my best friend.”

It really wasn’t by any standards a really good day. Not to generalize it for all the people in the world. Actually most the people in Sweden were having a really good time with their cinnamon rolls and meat balls. But for most the people in the Tadfield area at least it had been a really bad day so far. On the other side of town, in the youth centre Adam Warlock Young had stopped sobbing. He had gotten back to his knees.

“Everything’s shit, but we can fix it. Actually not _we_. _I_ can fix it. And it doesn't matter that you three aren't my friends anymore. I've got better friends than you'll ever be. My new friends will be together soon. They're coming here, and then we make everything better.”

There was a delirious smile on his lips, a hint of insanity gleaming in his eyes. But most of all he looked very sad, lost and alone. He had pushed his friends away, been turned down by the girl he fancied and was having trouble with his insecurities (not that he had any). So yes, it had been a bad day for him so far.  
  
  


Crowley had lost Aziraphale, and he was supposed to play at a band contest in a few hours. He was in the Emo’s bad books. Not that they had any other kind, or had any books in general. He too felt alone, hopeless and was very much questioning the fairness of the universe. So yes, he had had a bad day as well. He got to his feet, the familiar emptiness consuming all feelings in his chest. He looked at the blanket in his hands. The cold rain was dripping down his neck, his clothes already soaked, but he didn’t notice it. He was numb. What did it matter, really?

“I shouldn't throw it on the ground, should I? I mean, I probably should. I'm an Emo, after all. But nobody's really keeping score anymore.” He huffed and threw it into a puddle, the fabric slowly soaking with the dirty water.

The doors of his Bentley still stood open and over all the shouting and the rushing of the extinguishing water he could hear the despairing voice of Gerard Way.

_At the end of the world or the last thing I see  
You are never coming home, never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me_

And it hit him so hard, that he almost fell over again. He would never see Aziraphale again. He was gone. Even if Aziraphale had never wanted to talk with him again, he still had been there. Crowley had known he was safe and that he would have a better life without him. But now, Crowley would never see that smile again. He would never hear his voice again. And he would never get the chance to tell him all the things that made his heart ache with so much sorrow every day. It was too late. And with that the rage inside multiplied, tearing at his insides, ripping him into millions of shreds, because Aziraphale had been keeping him together and now he was lost without him. There was no light to guide him out of the dark, no anchor. And he was all alone and freezing. How could he leave him alone like this?

“What is going on here?”

Crowley had never actually met Aziraphale’s dad, but he recognised the voice immediately. It’s just the kind of voice he would expect him to have. It was cold, it was stern and so hard. And then his anger just took over. All he could see was red as he stormed towards him, his already bruised knuckles ready to meet that ugly face of his.

“You! You drove him into this! You destroyed his life!”

Crowley launched at him, the disgusted look on Mr Fell’s face burning into his eyes. Someone held him back. His fists never met the way to posh clothes and that fucking clean-shaved chin. He kicked against his restrains.

“And who might you be?” Aziraphale’s father asked, scanning him with so much reluctance clearly visible on his face.

“Your son was my best friend! You killed him you fucking bastard!”

Crowley was finally able to pull free one of his arms and his hand jerked forward and collided with Mr Fell’s stomach. He gasped in surprise and sunk to his knees.

“My son would never be friends with a disgrace like you.” He panted.

“You think so? Maybe you should have spent some more time talking with him, instead of pressuring him into being someone that he was not!” Crowley screamed and finally spat into his face.

He knew he was being childish and stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. He was fucking furious, because he just lost ~~his best friend~~ the love of his life. So he turned around and stormed off towards his car.

The tears only came as the engine was roaring under his feet and he was sure that no one could actually see him.

_Never coming home, never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me_

_If I fall_

************

Aziraphale remembered the whole journey only as a blur. There were people giving him worrying glances as he stumbled out of the train and into the busy streets of London. It was still raining, but it had died down from the previous pour into an unpleasant drizzle. He was shivering, clutching his arms around his wet shirt. He only realised where his feet had taken him, as he rang the doorbell.

The door opened and a very kind looking woman greeted him. She had red hair like Crowley and her friendly eyes scanned him in concern, as she saw the blood on his clothes.

“Oh my, what happened to you, poor thing?” She said, taking a step back to let him in.

Aziraphale immediately recognised the voice. It was the woman he had been talking to on the phone. She let him inside. Aziraphale wondered if she wasn’t concerned to let a stranger into her home, but maybe he just looked that miserable.

She took him through another door on the left side of the hallway, always throwing glances at him over her shoulder. He felt a bit of feeling coming back into his skin, as the pleasant warmth of the flat rushed over it. The room was very cosy, thick carpets on the ground and sweet little decorations on every open surface. In the middle a few chairs where arranged into a seating circle.

“What kind of a place is this?” Aziraphale whispered, his teeth clattering against his better will.

He pulled his shoulders to his head, trying to shield himself from all the new impressions and the woman’s taxing look.

The woman gave him a patient smile. She handed him a fluffy towel and Aziraphale took it with a bit of reluctance.

“This is my therapist office.” The woman explained with another smile.

“Oh.” Aziraphale said.

On the outside he stayed as calm as he could, taking in his surroundings. On the inside his emotions felt like a battleground, raging around in his head with mighty force. A therapist. Therapy was something for people with mental illnesses, right? He never actually engaged with the thought of therapy. But it felt very scary.

The woman gave him an inviting look. Her eyes where open and free of any judgement.

“Did you want to talk to me?”

Aziraphale looked away, taking a few steps around and pretending to inspect the room.

“Yes. Um...Actually, I...I-I don’t know. I just needed someone to talk to.”

The woman nodded understandingly. She sat on a chair and motioned for Aziraphale to do the same.

Aziraphale stayed standing behind it though, unsure and nervously playing with the towel in his hands.

“Then you’ve certainly come to the right place. I’m Madam Tracy.”

She gave him another of her kind smiles and Aziraphale felt himself relax a bit. Finally he sat down as well.

“Aziraphale.” He introduced himself.

Madam Tracy frowned.

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale... Why is that name so familiar? Hang on. Aziraphale. Ah yes you’re one of Mister Shadwell’s clients, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded reserved. He felt exposed under the searching eyes of Madam Tracy. The heartbeat in his ears got louder. He knew this had been a bad idea. Taking a half an hour train drive only to go to a woman, he had once in his life talked to and whom had offered him a bit of kindness. And now he found it wasn’t really, because she was concerned for him, but because it was her job. It was pathetic.

Madam Tracy crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair.

“So what is it I can help you with, dear? You look a bit shaken.”

Aziraphale had a bit of an inner conflict. On the one hand, he felt incredibly full and confused and really need to get all of the feelings out of his head. Needed someone to sort through all this mess. On the other hand it seemed like the worst idea, he had had in a long while. He could not just share his feelings with a complete stranger. He didn’t even know her. He sighed and buried his head in his hands. It was too late anyway.

“I-I think I just ruined everything.” He said and like on que the tears came streaming down his face again. They were hot and salty, but he felt more in control this time, more calm. He needed to get it out. He couldn’t live in ignorance any longer.

Madam Tracy leaned forward and patted his knee in sympathy. She didn’t say anything and Aziraphale was very grateful for it.

“You know I am a Christian…and we were preparing for that band contest…and then I met Crowley.”

He took another shaky breath. Suddenly it felt like a cork had popped from the bottle off his emotions. Everything was flowing out of him.

“He was, you know, an Emo so we weren’t really supposed to talk…but then-then he was really nice and we started working together for a while…but-but then I ruined our whole plan, because there was a mix up at the train station so we couldn’t find the judge… and then Gabriel, our priest, was angry at me…and then I send Crowley away and broke his heart and- and the then I-I-I was in the bookshop, but this man stormed in and thought I was a drug dealer or something and-and oh god I think I might be in love with Crowley.”

It was silent. It felt like pressure on his ears. Aziraphale knew he had been babbling, blurting the last words out with so much hurry. He didn’t know what to think. Everything inside his head was a mess. But as he looked up he didn’t find Madam Tracy looking confused or angry at him, like he had been expecting from Gabriel’s reaction. She looked more concerned, folding her hands in her lap and leaning towards him.

“Did you try to talk about your feelings with this Gabriel priest, dear?” She asked.

Aziraphale nodded slowly, wiping away a tear.

“Yes. I tried to talk with him several times, but, you know, he is a busy man and he didn’t have time to look into my worries, concerning the band contest.”

“And about your feelings for this Crowley fellow?”

Aziraphale hung his head in shame. Now came the part where she would tell him the same as Gabriel. That he was broken and sick.

“Yes-yes…I mean not really…I-I phoned him and he reminded me that it’s no behaviour fitting for a Christian and- oh god I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have come.”

He tried to stand up, not able to look into her eyes. He was trembling. Then he felt two firm hands gripping him by the shoulders and pressing him back into the seat.

“Aziraphale, look at me.”

Aziraphale looked at his fiddling hands. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the disgust in her eyes.

“Look at me.”

He sighed and slowly raised his head. Madam Tracy’s was kneeling on the ground and her eyes were hovering before his. And he only found sympathy and understanding in them.

“Have you ever heard of the term _gay_?” She asked. “It refers to the idea that two people of the same gender, in this case the male gender, can be in love with each other.” She explained it very slowly and carefully, keeping her eyes locked on his the entire time.

“Yes. I mean, sure I have. But-But that’s bad, isn’t it? It’s unnatural. You’re not supposed to give in to these kinds of feelings.”

He heard Gabriel’s voice repeating the words in his head over and over again. He tried to shake it off, terror gripping at his heart.

“Aziraphale, there is nothing wrong with being gay. It is as natural as a man and a woman loving each other. There is nothing wrong with who you are or what you are feeling.”

Aziraphale’s chest suddenly felt a lot lighter. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“No?” He asked, still a bit uncertain.

Madam Tracy smiled.

“No. I know a lot of gay people and they are very nice and friendly and really very happy. Some of them are even Christians, like you.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. It felt weird. He shouldn’t believe the things Madam Tracy was telling him. He should believe in the things Gabriel had been preaching him all his life. But he found that he didn’t really want to. Something had felt wrong about it all along, so as this new perspective presented itself to him, he just gladly took it. Madam Tracy sighed and walked over to a counter to make them both a cup of tea.

“The church has always had some kind of problem with people, who are different, I am afraid. But let me tell you that Gabriel is not speaking for his community, nor for God. It is an abuse of his power to let you into these believes. But, like I mentioned before, there are other people out there. Christians, who support people like you. And also other communities were you can get in contact and talk about your feelings.” She handed him the cup. “I have a group session in half an hour. If you want to, you could stay. Owen is really nice and he also identifies as gay, so maybe he could answer a few of your questions.”

Aziraphale nodded. The idea of other people, who were like him, gave him some kind of reassurance. He felt better.

“The others always said I was a pathetic excuse for a Christian.”

He took another deep breath. The shaky feeling in his legs had ebbed down a bit.

“Well, I suppose I am, really. I mean...I have no intention of sticking to their rules anymore.”

He took a sip from the steaming tea and felt another wave of tension leaving as the warmth spread through his body.

Madam Tracy gave him a proud nod.

He leaned back. He felt better, still not entirely good, but better. Everything seemed less threatening. He could work through this. He could figure this out. He closed his eyes. But then a jolt ran through his body.

“Oh no! I need to call Crowley! He must believe I’m dead.”

Dread build up in his chest. He couldn’t leave him in this believe. He couldn’t break his heart all over again. But on the other hand, the thought of talking to him frightened him even more. Crowley must still hate him, after all that he had done. How could he ever apologize? And how did his new knowledge affect his view of Crowley? Now that he knew...the nature of his feelings.

“You can use my backroom. It’s next door.” Tracy said and let him through a door. After showing giving him another assuring smile, she left him alone. He was really grateful for that. His anxiety had taken a hold of him again and his hands were shaking as he started to dial the number. 

**********

There was another knock on the door. Madam Tracy threw another glance over her shoulder to the door, behind which the young man was making his telephone call. She felt sorry for him. Apparently the influences of the people around him had led him into a few very toxic believes. But then again this was her job and after listening to so many heart-breaking stories most people found they developed a kind of professional numbness.

She opened the door to find yet another soaking figure standing before it.

“Mr Shadwell? Oh, what on earth happened?”

Mr Shadwell’s eyes were dull and wide in shock. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“What would you say if I told you that I confronted a vicious drug lord and followed his trail all the way to London?”

Madam Tracy was a very fast thinker. She needed to be, in her profession. So it didn’t take her too long to put one and one together. Mr Shadwell had gone to Tadfield and hat wanted to ask for money from Mr Fell, or Aziraphale, who was currently sitting in her backroom. Aziraphale had told her something about an angry man storming in, so that must have been Mr Shadwell. How exactly Shadwell came to the believe that Aziraphale was a drug lord, she couldn’t tell.

She gave him a small smile and let him inside by the shoulder.

“I'd say somebody needs to come inside and have a nice cup of tea.”

Mr Shadwell was still too shocked to object.

“But young Newt, he's still out there. He could be beaten up by those sprouts of Satan. There could be women there.” He mumbled.

Madam Tracy did her best to steer him through the room, without giving Aziraphale’s present away to him. An old, shouting man was the last thing the boy needed right now.

“Oh, well... now you can't be in here, because Mrs Ormorod and such will be arriving any minute. Why don't you come in here and have a nice lie down. You're no use to young Newt in this state.” She said and pushed him inside her bedroom.

Her bed was of the very plushy kind, the one that you were looking forward to sleeping in all day.

Shadwell nodded, apparently distracted by his surroundings. He lay on his back.

“Aye. I'll have a bit of a lie down. Nobody's ever done what I've done. Not Hopkins, not Siftings, not Dalrymple. I'm the ultimate weapon. I'm the doomsday option.”

He dozed off immediately. Madam Tracy closed the door of the bedroom with a smile.

***********

Adam was walking up and down in the backstage area. He felt a bit lightheaded, thoughts swimming around in his head. He shook it, tried to regain control. But he found that he couldn’t. He still raised his voice. He could not show weakness in front of them. Couldn’t let them see, how much all of this hurt and confused him.

“My new friends are on their way, and then there'll be people just waiting for us. They think we’re the best people ever. We are their idols. We hold so much power over them.”

Finally he felt a familiar rush through his veins. Yes, he knew all about power and he knew he enjoyed it.

“Won't that be awesome?” He grinned, the skin around his mouth stretching unnaturally.

The Them stayed silent. There was fear in their eyes. In some part of himself Adam heart a faint voice, reminding him that they shouldn’t be afraid of him. They were his friends not his servants. The voice was quickly drowned by another wave of desperation.

“Say something. You have to say something. I'm telling you to say something!” He screamed.

Wensleydale flinched, averted his eyes. A single tear dropped from Peppers eyes.

“Stop it. Stop crying. This is fun. We're having fun. This is the best day of all. You have to smile! Smile! Smile!”

************

Anathema’s and Newton’s hand were clenched together. Newton’s cheeks were adorably flushed from the mild cold, that had spread with the weather outside.

“That is...I mean...that is...You know I've never actually...This is like my first date ever.”

Anathema smiled and chuckled softly.

“I'd never have known.”

She leaned a bit closer to Newton. He still seemed a bit uncomfortable, unsure of what to do.

“Well, seeing as the world's ending, we could put it up a pace?”

Anathema laughed at his sheepish smile.

“We’ll see. Agnes said we’d do it once today.”

Newton shook his head.

“She never. She bloody-She can't have predicted that.”

A huff escaped Anathema’s lips.

“We’ll she did say so. All my relatives even left notes next to the, um…very explicit lyrics. “You go, boy. May fortune be with you.” Or “Anathema, my descendant, I trust he will be fine of feature and mighty of...” Well, you get it.”

Newton gulped. All colours had drained from his face.

“Oh, my dear Lord.”

“Yeah tough life, I guess.”

Newton seemed very eager to change the topic after that.

“So, the band contest it is then?”

Anathema sighed and stopped walking. She let go of Newton’s hand, which earned her a very sad look from his part. It was kind of adorable.

“Mmm...I'm not sure anymore.” She bit her lip. “I mean, Agnes had this whole day planed out and she doesn't tell us to. Because if there's a lyric with instructions, I don't know which one it is.”

Her stomach was rumouring, doubts and guilt boiling into very unpleasant soup.

Newton frowned.

“What do you mean, Agnes doesn't tell us to? Don't you ever just do things for yourself? See how they turn out?”

Anathema sighed and knitted her eyebrows. She could feel a headache building up, despite the cold afternoon air.

“I try to of course. But in the end it always just turns out to be exactly the thing Agnes wanted me to do. It’s like I’m jinxed.”

Newton gave her a sympathetic look.

“Your grandmother shouldn’t tell you what to do. No matter if she’s some kind of weird prophet or just a normal human being.”

“I know. I've spent my whole life trying to figure out what Agnes wanted me to do. And then trying to find out, what it was that I wanted. And she's has failed me so many times. And I fail her too. Maybe that is how it is supposed to be.”

**********

If anyone was ever going to make a movie about his life, Crowley very much doubted it would be a very interesting one. A sad one yes, a weird one yes, but also very much boring, because he would be spending half of his screen time drinking himself out of his mind. He really should transform himself into a more interesting character.

He looked at the fluid in his glass. It was nearly empty again. His head was resting on the sticky table. Drinking in public this time. He had sunken that low again.

“I never asked to be an outcast. I was just minding my own business one day and then...oh, lookie here, it's an existential crisis. Oh, hey, my mum is a drug addict and never paid me any attention, when she wasn’t beating me senseless. I’ve been living on the streets for the last couple of month. Next thing, I'm doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of social repulsion. And the only one’s kind enough for sparing me a hand were those weirdos with tons of makeup.”

His voice was a pathetic mixture of sobbing and whining. He didn’t really know who he was talking to. He imagined the perfect audience sitting in front of him and _uuhing_ and _ahhing_ at exactly the right points. He was showing real theatrical craftsmanship here.

His phone rang. It took him some time to fiddle it from his incredibly tight jeans, all the while cursing in every language he knew. His heart stopped when he saw the name on the display. Was this some kind of sick joke? Was someone calling to take revenge on him? His hands trembled as he accepted the call.

“Aziraphale?” He breathed. He waited for his hopes to shatter.

“Hello, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice broke at the end.

It sounded exactly like he remembered it, all kind and warm and so perfect. Crowley almost cried from joy, his heart nearly bouncing out of his chest.

“You’re not dead?”

There was a soft chuckle at the other end. Crowley tried to remember ever part of it, absorb every single nuance of his tone.

“I don’t think so.”

Crowley stayed silent. He didn’t trust himself not to break out in tears. That wouldn’t be cool, would it? If Aziraphale had stood before him, he probably would have thrown himself around his neck by now, a wretched sobbing mess.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Afraid I've rather made a mess of things. I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

Crowley nearly broke into a hallow laughter. He was far from alight. If the way from here to the moon had been a scale from alright to total mess, he would be somewhere around Alpha Centauri.

“Nah, I’m fine. It’s been a bit of a rough morning. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend.”

It was silent on the other end, as Aziraphale seemed to take in his words.

“I'm so sorry to hear it.” His sadness wavered all the way through his words and ripped Crowley heart into tiny pieces.

“Listen, there is something I should tell you. Back at the bookshop there's a book...”

Fear started tickling on Crowley’s skin. It was actually quite unnecessary, since he didn’t even like books. But he knew they were important to Aziraphale and it felt so wrong to break this devastating news to him, with all the other stuff that had happened to him.

“Oh, look, the bookshop….isn't there anymore.”

The silence felt heavier this time.

“Oh?”

“I'm really sorry. It burned down.”

“All of it?”

“Yeah.”

It was like he could hear Aziraphale’s precious little heart break through the telephone line. He quickly tried to change the subject.

“What-what was the book?”

Aziraphale continued talking, but seemed very distant the whole time, like his head hadn’t yet caught up his the news.

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind. The collection of the Nice and Accurate lyrics of Agnes Nutter. It's all in there. The judge’s name, address. Everything else. I worked it all out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Crowley took a deep breath. Of course Aziraphale’s betrayal stung his already patched up soul, but he could clearly hear the guilt in Aziraphale’s voice. There was no good in dwelling in the past. Not after he had almost lost him. Aziraphale could have told him he brutally murdered someone and Crowley would have probably forgiven him. (Crowley would have probably found it really sexy as well. Murderer were sexy. Especially if they were Aziraphale.)

“Look, wherever you are, I'll come to you. Where are you?”

He wanted to see Aziraphale again, these amazing blue eyes, his soft face. He missed him with every fibre of his body.

“There-there is something I need to do first. I need to talk to somebody.”

Crowley could not hide his disappointment. He felt like Aziraphale was pushing him away all over again. Was this really all they would do for all their lives? Take a step towards each other, only to take two steps back again?

“Oh.”

“Tell you what, I’ll meet you at the band contest.”

“You still want to play? After all the shit that has happened?”

“I think it hardly would be fair, if after all the time we spent rehearsing, we just left our poor bands to it.”

Crowley scoffed. He didn’t like the idea of going back to their old life’s at all. How could Aziraphale still cling to this thought after all his people had done?

“I’ll have someone drive me over. Someone who won’t murder me with their driving style in the process.”

And just like that the old Aziraphale was back. The one that wouldn’t miss a single opportunity to tease Crowley and bicker at everything he did. And it felt so incredibly warm and wonderful that all Crowley could think of was an unimaginative “Fuck you, angle.”

Aziraphale laughed and Crowley did his best not to melt in his chair.

“Really Crowley? I thought even you had standards.”

“Ngk.”

It probably was the alcohol. Nothing could quite possibly feel this good. Crowley wished he could just pause this exact moment and bath in it for all eternity.

“So I'll meet you at the youth centre. But we're both gonna have to get a bit of a wiggle-on.”

“What?”

“The youth centre.” Aziraphale chuckled. It was so soft and so affectionate and fuck Crowley was really done for it.

“I heard that. It was the wiggle-on.” He huffed, but Aziraphale had already ended the call.

************

Aziraphale felt like a fish out of water as he watched, standing still like a statue, as the other kids entered the room. It was two girls and a boy, all seemed very relaxed and quite happy.

“Enter all seekers after peace of mind. Only if you are prepared to share your experiences and receive wisdom from those who have gone through it before.” Madam Tracy said dramatically, while holding open the door.

The one girl laughed and bowed exaggeratedly.

“We are here to receive your wisdom, Madame Tracy.”

The other two laughed as well. They made their way to the chairs. It was a very relaxed and comfy atmosphere, the rain dropping against the windows in a steady pattern, while the warmth of the room embraced them. Aziraphale allowed a small smile to creep on his lips as well, although he still felt a bit anxious about talking to the others.

“Oh! Is someone going to join us today, Madam Tracy?” The boy asked and pointed at the extra chair.

“Yes, dear. Aziraphale over there will join our session.”

The three of them seemed to notice him for the first time. Aziraphale gave them an uncertain wave with his hand. His fears burned away as the boy gave him a bright smile.

“Then let’s begin.” The boy said and flopped on his chair.

Madam Tracy chuckled at his eagerness.

“And we are looking forward to hearing what you are going to say to us, after we've gotten a cup of tea for everyone.”

***********

“Four cups of tea, please. One of them black. And a cheese sandwich.”

Nancy had been working at the diner for quite some time now. She had seen a lot of weird, funny and sometimes even frightening costumers. But the woman now standing before her was on a whole new level. The way her eyes sparked with so much excitement and hunger, it was very disturbing.

Nancy tried to keep her friendly attitude, because she had sworn to never judge people only by appearance. Also it was her job.

“You take a seat and I'll bring it over for you. Four of you, are there?” She asked already turning to the stove to get the order ready.

The woman chuckled. It wasn’t a nice sound at all. It sounded like thousands of little ice crystals shifting against each other. Nancy shivered.

“There will be. I'm waiting for friends.”

“Only passing through then? You better hurry up, there is a band contest here tonight and I’m telling you it’s hell with all these disillusioned teenagers running around. Still dreaming about becoming famous rock stars, they are.”

Nancy was barely over the age of a teenager as well, but she was already disillusioned for good. She was only doing this job to keep paying her rent, dreaming of better days in which she might be able to afford college.

The woman smiled knowingly, her eyes filled with the same dreadful sparkle.

“They’re not disillusioned. Not yet.”

And with that mysterious comment she stalked over to an empty table, her high heels clicking on the floor. Nancy couldn’t take her eyes off her, while preparing her order. She had some weird kind of beauty to her. Deadly beauty.

Soon another man entered the diner, the bell chiming happily behind him, as he closed the door. His hair was black like the night and coated in a fine layer of rain water. He strode over to the table with big, elegant steps.

“Zingiber. It's been a long time.”

“Sable.”

They smiled at each other, like they were old friends and at the same time like they wanted to jump at each other’s throats at any moment.

“Feels funny, all of us getting together again.”

“Funny?”

The woman leaned closer to the man, giving him a conspiratorial look. Nancy had to concentrate really hard, to understand what they were saying. She nearly congested the tea cup she was holding.

“Hmm. I know you have been looking forward to the big day as much as I have, and finally it comes. Feels like our only purpose is this yearly ritual.”

The door opened again with a sudden whoosh that carried the smell of the rain outside.

“Well I don’t know about you two, maybe your services might be a lot more disposable, but I have a lot of things to keep me occupied with.”

A third person stepped into the room. They had white hair and equally pale skin. But they walked with so much confidence, that Nancy felt even paler in comparison. She walked over to the table to deliver the cups. Her hands were shaking. None of the people payed her any mind.

“Chalky, no need to apply your methods to us my friend. My confidence is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

The person, apparently named Chalky chuckled. It sounded like ripping paper.

“I like a challenge.”

Nancy hurried to get back behind the counter. The people were giving her the creeps.

“I would have thought there’d be more people, somehow.”

“It's not the people, it’s us who matter.”

Nancy was now pretending to clean a glass. The glass was already perfectly clean, but she needed something for her hands to do. She watched them from the corner of her eye.

“Any sign of him yet?”

And then the door from the backroom swung open. Out stepped a very broad-shouldered man, although thinking back at it Nancy wasn’t exactly sure whether it had been a man. His steps were heavy. He wore a very expensive and important looking suit. Nancy immediately had the feeling that he was the most important person in the room, that she had to do everything he told her too.

The people at the table jumped to their feet.

“When did you get here?” The woman asked, with some mixture of fear and admiration in her voice.

“I had some business to attend to. I bought the diner.”

Nancy’s eyes widened in shock. His voice resonated in every one of her bones. It was weird, because it wasn’t even that deep. But somehow it just felt incredibly old and powerful.

The other man with the black hair made a small bow.

“Your tea is getting cold, Sir.”

The man nodded approvingly, but made no move on sitting down or drinking the tea.

“It's been a year already, so let us waste no more valuable time and get so business. Time is money. And I don’t like wasting money. But first…”

He suddenly turned directly towards Nancy, his eyes staring directly into hers. Nancy felt like an animal that had been cornered by a predator. She couldn’t move.

“You’re fired.”

***********

Aziraphale never imagined group therapy to be like this. It was basically just people sitting around and chatting about their life. Mostly about unpleasant parts of their life, but also about the good ones. He sat there silently, kneading his hands, while the boy, apparently named Owen, and the two girls named Julia and Brenda, talked about their week.

All the while he eyed Owen, every movement of his body, ever twitch of his face. He looked normal. He had short brown hair, a friendly face with some freckles. He wore a comfortable hoodie and jeans. He didn’t look gay. Did people look gay? Did he look gay?

Aziraphale was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn’t realise the expectant silence. Suddenly he realised that all eyes were on him. He blushed.

“Um…oh, were you talking to me?”

Madam Tracy nodded politely. “I was asking, whether you wanted to share anything with the group?”

Aziraphale could feel the sweat building up on his forehead. Everyone was watching him, expecting him to say something. What if he said anything stupid?

“It’s alright you know? You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” The girl, with the brown hair and a fancy hat, Aziraphale thought it must have been Brenda, said. “But we won’t judge you for anything you say.”

There was silence. They were still waiting for him to say something. Aziraphale cleared his throat. It took him some overcoming to force the words out of his mouth.

“Yes, um, hello, I-I-I am Aziraphale…”

Oh god, he was already messing this up. But the others didn’t look pitiful or annoyed by his insecurity. Their eyes looked honest and open. This encouraged Aziraphale to take another try.

“I-I don’t really know what to say, really. It-It’s been a tough week for me and I-I needed someone to talk to, so I came here.”

He laughed nervously. Still no one was interrupting his speech, like Gabriel had always used to do.

“See, I’m in this community, so I-I am a Christian, actually. And I was having some trouble with the things my… advisor…told me.”

His mouth was dry, but somehow talking about it loosened a knot is Aziraphale’s chest. He felt a bit lighter.

The other girl gave him an encouraging smile. She had long, black hair and wore clothes that could also have fitted Crowley’s style. Aziraphale wondered if she thought about herself as emo. Maybe she even knew Crowley.

“I-I have this friend. Well, not really friend, but we spent a lot of time together. And then I started developing feelings for him…” Aziraphale gulped. “I tried to talk to my advisor about it. But he told me it was wrong to have these kinds of thoughts. That I was a sinner and needed to be cured. So-So I ran away. I know, I am a coward for doing so, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was so confused. My friend, you know, the friend I like, we…we had a fight and I don’t know whether he will ever be able to forgive me. I think- I think I might have been his best friend. I mean, he told me that when I was phoning him earlier. And I think I…messed up our friendship.”

Aziraphale stopped tears already stinging in his eyes. It was silent for a while. Then Owen spoke. He sounded careful with his words.

“So basically you are gay and the church didn’t’ approve of that?”

Aziraphale hesitated. All the while he had been searching for the wrong doings in his actions. Never did he think of Gabriel as the offender. Slowly he nodded.

Owen thought about that for a while. Then he began talking.

“You know, I am gay too. Back in high school I always thought something was wrong his me, because I didn’t show any interest in girls. All my friends kept teasing me about it, suggesting I should go out with that girl or rather that one. And then I met Iwan. He was the most incredible and most handsome person I ever met. And then I knew I just wanted to spend my entire life with him. But I also felt weird, because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, right? You shouldn’t love a person of the same gender. That wasn’t natural. I was very glad my parents supported me through that time. I don’t think I would have made it without them. They took me to a few of our local LGBTQ+ meetings and then I realised that I wasn’t alone. That there were other people out there like me. That it was completely natural.” He smiled. “So don’t listen to anything that advisor is telling you. You’re not doing anything wrong. He is. He should be supporting you in these difficult times.”

Julia nodded and also gave Aziraphale supporting thumbs up.

Aziraphale couldn’t remember ever feeling so accepted in his life. He could still hear the doubts lingering in the back of his head, telling him that this was too good to be true, but for a moment, everything seemed less frightening.

“If you want we could talk about some things some time. You know, get a coffee.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched again.

“You mean…like a date?” He asked, uncertainly.

Owen laughed. “No not like a date. Just because both of us are gay, that doesn’t mean we can’t just be friends. Boys and girls can just be friends, even though they’re both hetero, it’s the same with us. Also I already have a boyfriend. Iwan and I have been together for four years now.”

His smile was so bright, it almost lighted up the entire room. Aziraphale nodded in relieve, a smile also spreading on his lips. Owen’s love was quite adorable actually. Aziraphale wished that one day he could talk about someone like that and smile like him.

“Thank you. I would love that.” He said.

They went back to talking in the whole group and this time Aziraphale found himself tapping into their conversation from time to time. Finally, after a whole hour, Madam Tracy ended the session. Julia and Brenda already walked towards the door while Owen turned towards Aziraphale again.

“You could come with us, you know. We usually go for a pizza after the sessions.” Aziraphale smiled.

He really wanted to go and he was very glad that Owen offered, but he also knew there was something he needed to do. All this talking helped him clear his head a bit.

“I’m afraid I have a band contest to attend to. Can't lollygag. But it was very lovely to meet you all.”

Owen nodded with another friendly smile, then he was out the door as well.

***********

**1 hour and 43 minutes till the band contest**

Crowley was currently trying to manoeuvre his Bentley through the streets of Tadfield, with a blood alcohol that was way beyond the legal limits. Normally one would have assumed he would just walk the distance, but due to some unfortunate circumstances the Tadfield youth centre was no longer really in Tadfield, but some minute drive outside in an old factory.

Crowley had a lot to do with these unfortunate circumstances. Thanks to some precisely placed cuts in the old pipes and some carefully increased pressure in the water system, the pipes in the old building had suddenly burst, giving the old rotten building the last push with a nasty water damage. After that the council decided to move the Youth centre to newer and actually much cheaper quarters outside the city. Crowley prided himself on the fact, that now all the teenagers of Tadfield had to walk at least half an hour to get to any concerts at night. (Of course that had been his plan all along and not the intention of getting better and bigger rooms for all of them to hang out in, because that would have been nice and he wasn’t nice.) So all the hundreds of teenagers, who made their way towards it, were now slowly carving a footpath along the country roads, like water in brittle stone.

Would Crowley have been in his right mind, he would have simply called a taxi. But it would take him at least one more hour to sober up till acceptable levels, so dangerously swaying around the whole width of the street, honking at everything that dared to come in his way, while listening to _Nananananana_ by my chemical romance on immense volume, sounded like the most sensible thing to do.  
  


***********

Shadwell woke with a groan escaping his lips. He felt as he had just done a several mile run. Then he remembered he actually had. He had chased after that drug lord. Through the pouring rain. He looked around and found himself embraced by the fluffy blankets of Madam Tracy’s bed. With a very manly shriek he jumped to his feet.

As he carefully tried to sneak out of the flat, he heard familiar voice talking.

“So, what exactly do you want to do about this now?”

“Given the circumstances, I think it would be best, if I returned to Tadfield. I will play the contest with my band and have a talk with Crowley. Maybe…Maybe we can still figure something out…”

Shadwell immediately stormed into the room.

“Get your hands off her, you...” He stopped as he saw only Madam Tracy blinking at him in confusion.

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Madam Tracy asked innocently.

“The Satan’s sprout. I heard him, just then.”

There was a squeak behind him, then the boy, he had confronted in the bookshop earlier, stepped out from behind the door.

“Not just _a_ Satan’s sprout, _the_ drug lord, I’m afraid.” He said with a tart look on his face.

Shadwell sprang back, ready to run for his weapons if necessary. He felt the adrenalin rushing through him.

“You! You know I still have my phone? Three numbers, one thumb. Now, you get out of this good woman's flat before I call the authorities on you again.”

Suddenly Madam Tracy stepped before him, pushing the boy protectively behind him.

“That's enough, Mr Shadwell. This is young Mr Fell. He’s a very nice and responsible young man. He is most definitely not a drug lord and you needn’t be so hard with him.”

Her eyes sparkled with anger and Mr Shadwell felt even more intimidated by her fury than by the drug lord himself.

“Actually the two of you have the same destination. So you come and have a nice cup of tea, and listen to him.”

And just like that Shadwell couldn’t help but sit down in astonishment.

**********

Remember that part with things always turning out the worst way possible? Well, as it turned out, the day could get even worse.

Crowley later couldn’t tell if it was of his impeccable drunk driving style or his repeatedly revving engine, but his Bentley had become, completely unexpectedly (except for Aziraphale’s remarks about the smell), a burning hellish cage of fire that surrounded him. Dark smoke was leaking from his bonnet. Crowley had ignored the signs, now he was paying the price.

He skilfully ignored the unhealthy sounds his car was making and tried to remember the way to the youth centre. My chemical romance was interrupted by the local traffic report.

“Citizens are being advised to avoid the Tadfield main road because, in the words of a Transportation Department spokesman, _There is a car on fire or something_.”

There was a short uncomfortable silence, then a whisper.

“What does that even mean? This is Tadfield. There is no such things as cars on fire.”

If Crowley hadn’t been so busy trying to hit the sidewalk as often as possible, he would probably have been proud to finally make it into the news.

***********

“Mr Biggs...Yes? Could I interest you in one of our...”

The door was slammed in Lisa’s face. This had been the 134 door slammed in her face so far.

“Bugger.” She cursed.

She hated being an intern at the insurance company. Actually she was just looking forward to making a lot of money, out of people’s fears. She didn’t actually want to work for it. She couldn’t wait to finally being raised to a better position. Then she wouldn’t have to do this embarrassing job anyone. Some other poor soul would do it for her.

She moved to the next door.

“Hello? Mrs Blore?” She smiled the best she could. “I'm here about a car accident that you were recently involved in. You are eligible for compensation.” 

Again the door was slammed before her. 367 more doors to go. The day could only get worse.

“Oh, for Heaven's sake.” She muttered.

The next person on her list was a Mrs Cook. She rang the bell and a strange bloke with white fuzzy hair opened.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Mr Cook. We're here about an accident you had.”

“It probably wasn't an accident, Lisa. And I’m not Mr Cook.”

Something about him seemed really weird and somehow upsetting. Lisa found herself taking a step back towards the stairs.

“Um, h-how do you know my name?”

The guy smiled. A sick kind of smile that made his eyes seem all wrong.

“It’s on your shirt, Lisa. I should be grateful to you for setting me free, shouldn't I? I mean, I should take you to Mrs Cook personally, so the two of you can have some biscuits and a cup of tea. Maybe you could elaborate on the accident part a bit more? Or she could tell you about that one time her husband was attacked by a killer weasel.”

“Uh...I should be going now.” Lisa said.

The guy laughed. “Too late. Here she is.” He said, as an elderly woman stepped behind him, to take a look at her.

And then with a rush the guy was suddenly gone and Lisa found herself being pulled inside the flat for tea.

**********

“Right. So you are not a drug lord, but a teenager and playing at this band contest this evening?”

Shadwells head was spinning a bit, from all the information. Wouldn’t it have been for Madam Tracy placing a protective hand on the young man’s shoulder, Shadwell would have probably already punched him in the face or something.

“Yes, that is quite correct.”

The boy’s eyes raced between Shadwell himself and Madam Tracy’s supportive smile.

Shadwell made a low huffing noise.

“Aye, and what do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know…yet, chief editor Shadwell. Our first priority must be getting there and if something happens…you are the man to handle it.”

Shadwell changed the position on his chair and took another sip from his tea.

“Well, I don't know about that. Um, the London teens and terrors, we just deal with teenagers.”

“I'm sure you've brought lots of those to justice.”

Of course Shadwell knew he shouldn’t be schmoozed by some under aged criminal, but he couldn’t help for his breast to swell in pride.

“Well, early days.” He said flattered.

“This judge of yours, how many piercings does he have?”

The boy frowned. “Oh...uh... oodles of them. Pots of piercings. Piercings everywhere. Ha-ha-ha!”

Shadwell narrowed his eyes. Something about the boy’s behaviour was suspicious, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“Then I'm your man.” He said nonetheless.

“Now, chief editor, do you have a car or anything the like?”

“Ney, much too expensive cars.” He muttered. “But I still got the old baton over in my flat. Maybe I should take it out for yet another trip.” He said thoughtfully.

“Ah yes of course you would have a baton. How very sensible.”

Fortunately Shadwell was already too busy thinking about the possible applications of his weapon to see the pure terror in the boy’s eyes.

**********

Crowley was still wobbling through the streets of Tadfield, driving at a speed where walking would have probably been faster, especially because it took him twice the distance there, with swaying over around the whole road. 

So it was no surprise when suddenly a head popped up at the window next to him and was actually able to keep up with him. Crowley pulled down his window.

“You won’t escape me this time. Not with this car.”

Crowley smiled the slickest smile he was able to produce.

“Hastur. How was your teatime?”

Hastur was forcefully holding unto the door of the Bentley, the metal almost bending under his fingers. Still he too was able to produce a smile. Funny, how in the most bizarre and murderous situations people still liked to keep up friendly appearances and smile.

“Funny, ha-ha. Joke all you like, Crowley. There's nowhere to run. And especially nowhere to drive.”

Crowley’s mind was still in a bit of a buzz from all the alcohol. So really he couldn’t feel any fear. Maybe that was a bit unfair, but his jokes seemed even funnier like this. He watched the flames liking at the metal of his bonnet.

“Aren't you to be getting ready to going to the band contest around now? Come on jump in, I’ll give you a lift.” He snickered, ignoring the pure hatred in Hastur’s eyes.

“The Emos will not forget. The Emos will not forgive.”

Crowley almost hit a lamp post, even though he was only going walking pace.

Hastur didn’t even need to jog. He narrowed his eyes and looked Crowley over.

“You know where the real judge is, don't you? It’s too late. He won’t listen to you now. You're done, Crowley. Think you're even getting there in time? You won’t make it.”

Crowley mocked a thoughtful expression, even sticking out his bottom lip.

“Let's find out, shall we?” He said and while laughing manically stepped on the gas pedal with full force. Hastur now had to run to keep up.

“What-what-why are you driving? The car will explode! That's-what-Stop this thing.”

Crowley only kept laughing and put on _Vampire money_ by my chemical romance.

“You know the thing I like best about time, is that every day it takes us further away from the 14th century. I’m really glad I didn’t live in the 14th century. You'd have loved it, then.”

Hastur was now panting, avoiding obstacles in his way while still clinging to the window of the Bentley.

“They didn't have any cars back in the 14th century. Lovely, clever human people inventing cars, and motorways, and windscreen wipers. You got to hand it to those geniuses.” Crowley slurred, thinking he sounded very smart talking about history like that. If only Aziraphale could see him now.

Hastur was now screaming, a bit of panic mixing in with his tone.

“Yeah. Aah! Stop it. It's over. You're doomed! You hear me, Crowley? You're doomed. Whatever happens. Doomed!”

Crowley turned his eyes from the street towards Hastur. He grinned.

“See? This day's already got better.”

Hastur screeched.

“Stop this! Look back at the road. You'll kill us both! This is not funny!”

Crowley pushed his elbow towards Hastur in what should have been a chummy way, but instead hit him in the eye. He laughed at Hastur’s pained growl.

“Come on! If you've got to go, then go with style!”

In the distance another lamppost appeared.

Hastur gave Crowley another furious glare.

“I hate you!” He growled and finally let go off the window. He landed face first in a dirty puddle.

The Bentley was still on fire.

_Three, two, one, we came to fuck  
Everybody party 'til the gasman comes  
Sparkle like Bowie in the morning sun  
And get a parking violation on La Brea 'til it's done_

“You are my car. I've spend so much money on you. You are not going to burn. Don't even think of it.” Crowley mumbled as he gripped the steering wheel and tried to stay in the middle of the road.

Crowley had something no other Emos had: Faith. Being stabbed in the back multiple times by society can do that to you. Still, no matter how many times everyone was an arsehole to him, Crowley couldn’t help but to look for the good in people. It was quite stupid actually. But right now, he was very drunk and alcohol tends to lead you to the deception that everything is just fine, and that a ton of burning metal, rubber and leather is a fully functioning car. (Well not so much the latter one in most cases.) He had started the journey in his Bentley, and he was damned if he wasn't going to finish it in the Bentley as well.

Near by a police patrol was suddenly confronted by the sight of a very much burning and very much severing about car. The young intern inside turned towards his supervisor.

“What was...? Should we go after it?”

His supervisor, already thinking about his pension in a year, took another bite from his bagel. The sauce dripped on his uniform.

“Right now, that's someone else's problem.” He said with his mouth full of half eaten bagel.

The intern leaned back in his seat and frowned.

“I think he was waving.”

***********

“Listen, I'm sorry I made you all shut up, but I'm going to introduce you to my friends. You'll like them so much.”

The happy smile that was now on Adam’s face wasn’t really better than the screaming before that. He took another step towards the others.

“Come on. We can still be friends. After we’ve destroyed their bands each of us can pick a member and we’ll have to try and score with them. Wensley, you can have the blonde bass girl from the Demons. And Pepper, you can choose either a boy or a girl, as you like. And Brian, you can get the guitarist of the Angels, as a bit of a challenge maybe?”

He laughed. It was weird because his laughs sounded so normal again, but the words did not fit his behaviour at all. A shiver ran down the Them’s spines.

“So we'd spilt up the bands. But what about you, Adam?” Pepper said cautiously, but still with an angry note in her voice.

Adam blinked. “What?”

“Who are you going to hit on?”

“Oh I’ll be alone, same as always. I do not need to waste my time on such stupid things as love.” He chuckled, eyes still sparkling happily as if staying alone for all eternity had always been his biggest dream all along.

“Love is stupid?”

Adam frowned like it is the first time he actually thought about it. “I don't want to be with anyone.” He finally said.

Pepper gritted her teeth. “And you don’t even think to ask us about what we want? We don't want to hit on some random people, just for your amusement.”

Adam took a threatening step towards them, raising his hand. “You will do as I say.”

Pepper scoffed. “Or what? You've already threatened to kick us out of the band. There isn’t much left to threaten us with.”

Finally Wensleydale joined their conversation. His voice was tremoring with fear. “Actually, he could kill us.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Shup up, don’t give him any ideas.” She hissed.

Adam calmed down again, now talking without even a hint of anger in his voice. His sudden changes in mood were very scary.

“I won’t kick you out. You can go anywhere you want. See? I don't care where you go.”

The Them looked at each other.

Pepper gave Adam a last murderous glare. “Goodbye, Adam.” She said and walked towards the door.

Brain soon followed suit. “Goodbye, Adam.”

Wensleydale gave him a last thoughtful look, then he turned as well. “Actually, yes. Goodbye, Adam.”

Adam’s calmness disappeared again. He kicked the door open with his foot, screaming after them. He looked like a monster hunting for his prey.

“What do you mean _goodbye_?” He stormed out of the door after them.

The Them quickly raised their pace.

“Stop following us.” Pepper screeched.

“I'm not following you.” Adam insisted with anger leaking off his words.

“We aren't your friends anymore. We don't like you.” Wensleydale said, carefully avoiding to look back at Adam.

“I don't care. You’re my band.”

Pepper kept walking, although tears had formed in her eyes. Maybe they were for Adam, maybe for herself. “We’re not your band. We’re our own band. And I don't think you’re welcome anymore.”

Brain nodded. “You're really scary, and you aren't our friend. You aren't anybody's friend. You're going to hurt all these people. Why? Because some girl turned you down? You don’t even need her that bad. You had us. There are plenty more fish in the sea.”

They turned another corner and Adam fell back. He thought about the many amazing things he had done with his friends. Their laughter, their D and D rounds. Their many evenings in a crowded room, and all the concerts they had played together. Then he thought of the Youngs and his time at their house. He thought about all the things they had taught him, and how disappointed they would be. And then he just stopped. He realised he had been doing wrong. He was now hunched in on himself.

“Come back. Please?” He rested his head in his hands and started crying.

The Them hesitated. Of course they thought Adam was a complete nut job, but he was still their friend.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't...I don't think I was thinking straight. I am now.” Adam stuttered, tears still spilling.

Pepper crouched down beside him. “Adam, are you okay?”

He wiped away a tear and looked at them one after another. Their concerned faces.

“I don't know, but I think I felt lonely and insecure. No one has ever turned me down before. I was confused. And I am sorry I scared you. I should have looked for errors in my doing instead of searching for it in other people.”

He got to his feet again, legs still a bit wobbly. Brian helped him up. Adam already felt a bit better.

“What will you do now?” Brain asked.

“Get some pens and paper, we need to support some newcomer musicians.” Adam said and then a bit more sheepishly. “I mean, if you want to that is.”

***********  
  


“I've got it.” Newton suddenly said and gripped Anathema’s hand a bit tighter.

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“If Agnes really always knows what is going to happen, then you just need to pick a lyric, any lyric.”

He had some kind of triumphant glee in his eyes. He looked like a puppy, which found a particular amazing stick.

Anathema thought about this for a moment. Then she started reciting the first lines that came to her mind.

" _When the cold grip at ye bones...”_

“Well, she got that bit right.” Netwon said and gripped his coat a bit tighter.  
  
 _"...then ye both must listen to the tones_

_between the life of austerity and binge,_

_where they once produced the fringe."_  
  
“Well, I mean that doesn’t sound like she is talking about now. _Where they once produced the fringe_? What even is a fringe?” He joked.

But Anathema wasn’t really paying attention. She had gone a bit pale. Of course Agnes prophecies still had to follow her. She thought with just avoiding her, everything would finally be all right. What if the disaster just followed her, no matter where she went? What if she was the problem, not Agnes? She looked at Newton.

“The youth centre…where the band contest is. It’s an old carpet factory. It’s closed down now, but I met some of the guys who worked there at the village pub.”

Newton too seemed a bit worried now. “Oh.” He simply said.

***********

“So how do we get to this band contest then?” Shadwell asked.

He seemed a bit friendlier after Aziraphale had cleared up the situation, but he still was very grumpy. Maybe that was just the way he was.

“Ah, right. We need to hurry!”

Aziraphale suddenly remembered and stormed towards the door. It would take a miracle for them to get there in time if they took the public transport. And Shadwell didn’t seem particularly stressed.

Tracy watched them for a while as Aziraphale grew even more nervous. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll drive you. I have an old Vespa in the garage.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Tracy’s kindness was beyond his comprehension.

Shadwell on the other hand, didn’t seem relieved by the idea. “I’m not gonna ride on some ol wasp!”

************

R.P. Tyler had had a good day so far. As every year, when the band contest was about to start, there were a lot of teenagers hanging around in the city. And most of them were very keen on making this the best night of their life. Well, until next year anyway. His stash was already half empty.

What he didn’t expect was a very large, very beautiful sedan to almost run him over. His fingers were starting to itch as he took in the faint black metal and the costly fittings. Oh, what would he give to drive a car like that! Maybe in a few years his business would be big enough for him, to start spending his finances on some luxury items. That was if he didn’t spend it all on drugs for himself in the first place.

The window was cranked down and Tyler could get a good look at the marvellous interior. His mouth was watering. A handsome young man leaned out of the window and gave Tyler an awfully white grin. Tyler wished he could brush his hands over the man’s fine coat.

“I'm afraid we're lost. We're looking for the youth centre.”

Tyler gave him an equal grin, although his teeth were by far not as white as the man’s.

“Well, it's second on the right. Well, it's not exactly on the right. You go to the left, but you'll find that it winds its way around to the right eventually. It's signposted _Porrit's Lane_. You'll come into the village, you go up past the Bull and Fiddle and you can't miss it. Just follow the trail of drunk teens.”

The man seemed a bit irritated, but the smile stayed etched on his face the whole time. “Not sure I got that.”

“I did.” A very deep voice said from the interior.

A shiver ran down Tyler’s back. It sounded just like his supplier Martin. The some coldness and ruthless tone. But it couldn’t be Martin. This car was way too nice for that bastard.

“Let us go.”

And just as Tyler was about to stroke the side of the car with his dirty hands, it rushed away and around a corner with immense speed.

***********

“You know, most of my family thought it would be something with a nuclear war. Something with America and Russia probably.”

Anathema really wasn’t working herself up here. She was completely fine, completely calm. Of course, why wouldn’t she be?

“And it still may be.” Newton said, a few steps behind her, since she had started walking a lot faster.

Not because she was worried or anything. She just liked walking fast.

“You know, there are a lot of things that could go wrong at a band contest. There could be a terrorist attack and then the countries could start blaming each other and then we would still have the nuclear war. Did Adam look like a terrorist to you?”

Newton put his hands on both her shoulders and looked at her. His eyes were the perfect colour. Just the right amount of everything. They were calming, pulling Anathema in. She took a deep breath.

“Okay. That’s not what I meant. I think you're getting yourself a little overexcited.” Newton said.

Anathema tucked her hair back behind her ear, Newton’s warm hands still on her shoulders. She felt a bit more grounded.

“I'm not. I'm getting myself quite calmly worried about the future of our planet or us being blown up.” She said sulkily.

Newton grinned. Anathema couldn’t believe how he could stay so calm in this situation.

“Don't worry, Agnes would have definitely told you if we were going to be blown up.”

And as terrifying as that sounded, it made everything a bit better. Because even if Agnes was a fucking bitch, trying very hard to destroy her life, she still always had her back in some weird way.

***********

Before a very run down building stood a very impressing looking car. It seemed very wrong for it to be there, since there wasn’t anything equally fancy to be found at least within a radius of 3 miles. 

The four people, which had gotten out of the car, stared at the building.

“This is the place.” Capitalism said.

Desire shook her head. “Is this all there is? I remember it being more impressive somehow. Drunks could take a piss in this.” She said and sniffed.

It indeed smelled like piss. Some dry weeds were lining the old stones. Someone was lying in them, passed out and covered in vomit.

“I think that is exactly the thing they do.” Addiction said with a slick smile.

They all stopped talking when Capitalism took a step forward.

“We go in, we do the job, we go out. The geography is immaterial.”

The others nodded in awe. They walked towards the entrance, the ticket boy giving them a funny look.

“Surprise guests.” Capitalism said, putting his enormous paw on the counter.

The boy blinked nervously. “I was not informated on any surprise guests, sir.” He stuttered.

“Well, if you had, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? And I don’t suppose you’re the person to tell.”

The boy nodded quickly. “Very good, sir. Let me just check with Misses Dowling.”

Capitalism smiled. “She’ll know. Tell her, the four horseman are here.”

**********

“Hey, I drove past here with Dick Turpin.” Newt said as the stood in front of exactly the same building as the four people earlier.

But naturally the two of them seemed more fitting as target group for such a place, maybe Anathema still a bit more. They were the right age, for starters.

“You really do call your car Dick Turpin.” Anathema said, without looking at him. She took in the whole building, imagining how it would bring about the end of the world. It was kind of pathetic.

“Yes.” Newton said, but unfortunately Anathema didn’t really react.

There was silence. Finally she looked at him.

“I bet you're hoping one day someone's going to ask you why.”

Newton blushed. “Maybe.”

How come Anathema could get him out of concept so easily? She was way out of his league.

“Right. What are we doing now? Where are we going?”

Anathema’s face was stern. “Inside.”

“How do you know?”

“Because everything in my life, everything Agnes wrote down in that book many years ago, everything is all leading me here. Now. With you.” She said, her voice wavering suspiciously at some parts.

Newton wondered how much this actually affected her. She wanted to be strong and independent so badly. He couldn’t image how it must feel to be stuck like this.

“I’m just joking, what is going to happen out here?” Anathema said and produced a small smile.

Newton had to agree, even though he suspected that the first thing she had said was a bit closer to the truth.

“And what do we do if something happens?” He asked.

Anathema said nothing. Her eyes clouded with darkness and the smile from vanished her face. She walked towards the entrance without another word.

***********  
  


“It's stupid calling it a band contest. I mean, it’s not really a contest, is it? They just play some songs and then the next one plays a song. No real fighting or anything.” Pepper said with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

The first spectators had started to gather in the stuffy room. The stage was not yet illuminated, but they stared at it nonetheless. Apparently some of the band’s had already arrived as well.

“Yeah, no blood splattering. Stupid contest.” Brain agreed.

Of course they had thought about leaving. Adam had frightened them, Adam had threatened them, Adam had behaved like a total arsehole. But then again Adam was also their friend. So they couldn’t exactly just turn him down, when he apologized and asked for their help, could they? Benefit of doubt.

“What are your new friends going to do here?” Pepper finally asked the looming question.

Adam licked his lips. “Well, I suppose they could sow mistrusts and conflict, humiliate them in front of the audience and their friends to get them to such a low level that they could do literally anything they like with them and prey out as much money as possible.”

Wensleydale frowned. “Actually, that is weirdly precise and would be quite difficult.”

Adam shook his head, his eyes stone cold. “Not really. Not if you're them.”

***********

**31 minutes till the band contest**

The sound engineer sighed. She was getting sick of putting together cables the whole day. Her back hurt, her neck hurt and she could really do with a shower.

“Can someone pass me the screwdriver?” She shouted to no one in particular. So she was rather surprised when someone did actually place the screwdriver in her open hand.

She looked up. Small, pig like eyes with so much coldness looked down at her. His bushy eyebrows overshadowed the ice blue of his irises. It was stunning, but in a very terrifying kind of way.

“Who the hell are you?” She stammered.

“Oh really, are any of you people here professionals? Is no one expecting the special guests?”

His smile was not even really a smile. It was just a hint of the corner of his mouth being lifted. You could have mistaken it for a twitch. She let the screwdriver clatter to the ground. Her only instinct was to flee, so she did exactly that.

Insecurity chuckled and walked over to the mixing console. They let their hands hover over the buttons.

“So what do we do?”

“This is the control room. Everything comes through here. See, they've made it so they don't have to worry about anything like sound and light. Machines will do it for them.” Addiction said and stood next to them.

“Except the failing part. When it comes to some things, machines will never replace people. At least sensation wise.” Capitalism said, a real smile on his face this time. It was bright and terrifying and showed his incredibly golden teeth.

Desire closed her eyes in pure satisfaction. “I can feel it. Another five minutes, and the bands will start to play. Oh I can feel them yawning for the win.”

“And once the desire begins, the insecurity comes...then the addiction. We're in business.”  
  
They took charge of the electricity, all of it. And under their rule, it would destroy the performance of so many people. Have you ever stood on a stage, the adrenalin and fear rushing through your veins, while the lights are shining into your face way too brightly? Then you know how every simple mistake feels like the end of the word. Every wrong word that slips from your mouth is a torture, every feedback of the microphone turns you into a nervous wreck. That’s what they wanted. You’re most vulnerable if you’re like that. You would sell yourself for the lowest price.

So they messed with the controls. They closed switches. They made it so the lights would turn off and on and so the singers could barely hear themselves. They were in control. Desire gave the others a meaningful glance, joy sparking from her eyes.

“Let's get this show off the road.”  
  
The tension in the room was building up. People started muttering and looking at the closed curtains. They could feel it. The anticipation.

War threw her hair over her shoulder in one swift motion. “It has begun. The show is prepared. Everything is set in motion for the final countdown.” She grinned. “The desire is ready to be fulfilled.”

Insecurity rubbed their hands. “It's not just the desire. It's the chemical reaction too. Oh, can you smell their sweat? Their fear and panic? Say what you like, desire may give you no rest for a few days, but insecurity and flashbacks will steal your sleep for all your life.”

Addiction laughed and leaned back in his chair. As always he looked stunning even doing something as simple as sitting. “The desire, the insecurity and then the downfall. I like the downfall. So expensive. So dirty. So addicting.”

Capitalism said nothing. He just watched as the curtain on the stage quivered.

**********

As mentioned earlier, R.P. Tyler had had a great day so far. But the strangeness was starting to get a bit annoying, if he was being honest. Maybe he was just a bit high. That might happen. There was no way that car in front of him was really on fire. And was that _Our lady of sorrows_ by my chemical romance?

A bloke with short red hair leaned out of the window. Tyler was sure he had bought some weed from him from time to time. He just couldn’t remember his name.

“Ah, excuse me. Sorry to bother you. I seem to be a bit drunk and must have forgotten the way to the youth centre.”

There are some things that are very difficult to say. The ways by which a polite conversation develops are a mystery even to the people accustomed to them. But Tyler wasn’t accustomed to them.

What R.P. Tyler wanted to say was: _“Oh damn this must have been a good stash. Your car looks like it is on fire.”_

But he shouldn’t. I mean, the guy had to know, didn’t he? Perhaps it was some kind of practical joke?

Rather he should have said: _“Might have taken the wrong turn. Easy mistake to make. So, second on the right.”_

But Tyler wasn’t that articulate and he really didn’t care about the conventions of a polite conversation. Also he was high. So he said:

“Man, your car is on fire, and you're still sitting in it, and frankly, it's in no fit condition to drive.”

The guy looked around as he was noticing the flames for the first time.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” He said.

Another way that is especially popular with the people in Britain is talking about the weather. It seems the British people are very keen on talking about their weather, because in some parts of the countries this formula has already replaced the outdated phrasing of _Good morning_. So another way this conversation could have evolved would have been the following:

_“Hey man?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Very unusual weather for the time of year.”_

_“I'm afraid I hadn't noticed.”_

_“That's probably because your stupid car is on fire!”_

But of course R.P Tyler also wasn’t very interested in the weather. Maybe that was because most of the time, it looked to him like it was raining mountain dew.

So instead he just laughed at his imagination, gave the guy his directions and wondered if fire in your car could be an efficient way to replace seat heaters.

**********

**17 minutes till the band contest**

“You see this finger, laddie? I’m calling the police and I will make sure they arrest you for all your crimes.”

Aziraphale sighed. Shadwell was not really helping their situation by threatening the already pretty confused ticket boy.

“It really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge. I’m a participant.” He tried again.

Madam Tracy stepped forward and nodded. “He's telling the truth. He needs to get to his band.”

Aziraphale was beginning to develop a headache. A rather big one. After all this time would they simply fail by not getting into the building?

“Will you please stop interrupting? I am trying…” He snapped and immediately regretted it. Tracy didn’t seem to mind though. She was probably used to it, by working with all her clients.

“I just thought I'd put in a good word for you.”

“Yeah, I understand, but you must really…”

“Will you please be quiet? All three of you.” The ticket boy finally screamed.

It was silent, everyone was looking at him. His ears went pink.

“I mean, ma'am, I must respectfully ask you to…”

He couldn’t go any further, because a burning car pulled up to the building. Everyone watched as it drove past them, the flames licking at the metal and blowing happily in the wind. Through the open windows Aziraphale could hear the climax of _welcome to the black parade_.

And then finally the engine died and out stepped Crowley, his face and hair covered in ash and soot. He grinned, his glasses very crooked on his nose.

“You wouldn't get that sort of performance from a modern car.”

It was a miracle, really, that Aziraphale had arrived there before Crowley. He had to cover at least twice the way Crowley had to go. But of course Madam Tracy didn’t drive in walking pace and she didn’t get lost in her home town for five times.

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale felt close to fainting. The way Crowley’s hair lay on his head, his hairdo all messy and the way his eyes sparkled behind his glasses. He felt a sudden pressure in his chest. He had missed him so much. And he hadn’t even noticed up until now. He just wanted to run over there, wrap his arms around Crowley’s slim torso, and never ever let go. But of course, that would be inappropriate. They were still on very thin eyes with everything they did. They hadn’t exactly talked it out yet. Best to be careful. So instead of running over there like a lunatic, Aziraphale gave Crowley his happiest smile.

“Hey, Aziraphale! I see you found a ride. Nice helmet. Suits you.”

Only then did Aziraphale notice that he still wore the Vespa helmet. He quickly took it off, his locks sticking to his forehead from sweat. He could only manage an uncoherent. “Ahh!”

Did Crowley just compliment him? Did they do this now? Had they always done this and Aziraphale just hadn’t noticed? Was this something you casually did, complimenting your friends? And why was he suddenly so very self-conscious? 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and quickly changed the topic. “Um, this young man won't let us in.” He pointed at the ticket boy behind them.

“Leave it to me.” Crowley said and strode over to them. Did he always move his hips like that? He put on his best smile.

“Ticket boy, my friend of whom I definitely remember the name of. I think Beez would be real pissed if they found out you ruined our change to win this contest thingy. So…”

The boy had quickly paled at the mention of Beez and nodded furiously.

“Okay thanks.” Crowley said and they entered the building without further problems. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too late already.

**********

The four horsemen had finally been escorted to their lounge, that was on the second floor with the perfect view onto the stage. There were very comfortable sofas, expensive beverages and fruits of course.

Desire leaned back into the soft leather and chuckled. “All the chickens are coming home to roost.”

Capitalism sat in the corner of the biggest sofa. His face was in the shadows again. It wasn’t like there was any light there. The light just seemed to avoid his face, like it didn’t actually want to show what was happening there. “The judge, the master of this contest. Our friend. He's all we've been waiting for. When he joins us, we will be complete.

Adam didn't know what was going to happen next, but he did know what he had to do.

Pepper gave him a taxing look. “So, what are these people like?”

“Don't know.”

“Are they all serious business people?”

He nodded slowly.

Mrs Dowling entered the room. She seemed a bit stressed, but also relieved that all of the planning was finally coming to an end. “Mr Young I will now bring you to the lounge. The other guests are already waiting.”

“It's alright.” Adam got to his feet. The Them followed him.

“We’re ready.” Adam said, with as much conviction as he could.

Up in the lounge Capitalism shifted in his seat. He could feel the atmosphere in the hall beneath them changing.

“He is here. It begins now. The curtain is falling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting closer to the end, wahoo! And Aziraphale and Crowley will finally get some time to talk to each other properly, I promise. 
> 
> I hope all of you had very nice holidays and that your start into 2021 was okay. I spent some quality time with my family and it was all rather relaxed. My sister and I started rewatching Dr Who (you gotta love David’s hair). But of course I could only keep from writing for so long so here you go.
> 
> The lyrics mentioned in the beginning of the chapter are from cemetery drive, one of my favourite mcr songs of all time, and the ghost of you.
> 
> As always Kudos and comments are appreciated, otherwise I’ll see you for the finale, whenever I will be able to finish this.


	6. The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: emotional abuse, graphic description of violence (and very badly written romance)

The room was dark. Although it might have been sunny outside there was a slight chill in the air. The people inside were silent, but it was the sort of expectant silence, which would soon be broken by upset muttering.

The door opened and a small person with very fuzzy hair stepped inside. They eyed the anticipating crowd and finally took seat on a sofa which was already loosing it’s filling on multiple parts.

“The trial of the Emo Crowley, beginning with evidence and ending with utter obliviation, is in session.”

Now the muttering started. Some of the people seemed scared, others very gleeful. None seemed sympathetic, but maybe it was the wrong crowd to look in for these kinds of feelings, in the first place.

The person on the sofa nodded. “Bring in the traitor.”

The whole situation seemed very important, radiating very serious and dark vibes. Something was lingering in the air. Something was about to happen. Something big.

The doors opened again and two muscular looking guys dragged in another person. He had red hair, which was splattered all across his scalp. His eyes had once been hidden by sunglasses, which were now crushed under the heels of one of the bigger guys. A dark bruise covered the right side of his face. His hands were bound with a dirty rope. Still a sloppy smile twisted his lips.

“Hey, guys. Nice place you got here.” He said, as he was cast to the ground in front of the sofa.

The person on it gave him a dangerous glare. “Not for you, it won't be.” They hissed.

He spit a bit of blood as he tried to get back on his knees. Even in this shattered state there was some kind of grace to his posture and behaviour.

“Could do with some house plants. Maybe a coffee table.” He mocked.

“Silence!” They snapped and sprang to their feet. “Get him on his knees.”

The two muscle heads stepped forwards and wrenched him back up.

He gritted his teeth. “Love to.” He took a look at the surrounding people.

The person on the sofa was surrounded by two more. One with white fuzzy hair and one with black hair and dark eyes.

He almost laughed. “So, four of us. My chemical romance? Fall out boy?”

Their face stayed blank. “The trial of a traitor.”

He tilted his head, which lead to a pained expression crossing over his face and the smile only crumbling for a second. It was enough for them to notice. For the first time there was a smile on their face.

“Beelzebub, you are...?”

“I'm the judge.” They said.

The boy with the white hair stepped forward, eying the one on the ground with immense amounts of disgust and haltered. “And I'm the prosecutor.” He said delighted.

The one on the ground looked to the last remaining person. “And so Ligur here is defending me?”

Laughter. This was not the kind of place that would allow everyone a fair trial. This was the kind of place that lets it’s victims beg for mercy in the mud.

“Oh, I'm afraid not. No, I'm just here in case there's anything you've done that they forgot.” Ligur said with an evil smile.

Beelzebub nodded and stepped forward, deliberately stepping on his hands in the process. They leaned closer to his face, lust sparking in their eyes. Their breath smelled of putrefaction. “But we built this place for you specially. It shall be your place of trial. And it shall be your place of destruction.”

Under them they could feel the body starting to shake. A pleasant shiver ran through them. Oh they loved the tears.

But then laughter shook the room. The traitor was not crying, he was laughing.

“Guys, you shouldn't have gone through all the trouble. What appears to be the problem?”

**Earlier**

“You wouldn't get that sort of performance from a modern car.”

Crowley was really proud of that sentence. He thought it was incredibly badass and cool, him getting out of that burning thing, the flames raging in the background. And then just him standing there and delivering that awesome line.

Unfortunately it turned out to be a terrible idea. Because naturally burning metal tends to be very hot. Crowley didn’t think about that when he tried to open the door. So his amazing presentation was interrupted by him supressing a yelp of pain. But apart from the second degree burnings, he now had, it was in fact totally badass.

“Crowley?”

Crowley’s legs suddenly felt the need to be very wobbly and not a bit badass.

Aziraphale stood there, his normally impeccable clothes very stained and ripped. His hair was stuffed under an old fashioned helmet. He looked like an archaeologist, whom had just fought off some bad guys and was now trying to escape with his propeller plane. And shit that shouldn’t be allowed.

Crowley cleared his throat.

“Hey, Aziraphale! I see you found a ride. Nice helmet. Suits you.”

Shit. Did he really just say that? Why would he say that? Sure, the way Aziraphale’s curls stuck to his head from the sweat and the rain was absolutely gorgeous, but…he was getting carried away again.

“Ahh!” Aziraphale seemed embarrassed, or maybe flattered? He couldn’t tell from this distance. Fuck, what if he had messed this up already? He felt his heart sink as Aziraphale cleared his throat and quickly changed the topic.

“Um, this young man won't let us in.” He pointed at the ticket boy behind them, whom Crowley now noticed for the first time.

Crowley knew him from hanging around at Beez’s. He was sure. He just couldn’t remember his name.

“Leave it to me.” Crowley said with the slickest tone he could manage.

He walked over to them, but noticed in the process that walking did in fact hurt very much. Apparently he had also burned his left foot. He tried to keep the weight from the food and kept smiling. His hips were now swaying totally ridiculously. How did he always manage to make a fool out of himself?

Still Aziraphale gave him the brightest smile and Crowley instantly forgot all about it. His foot didn’t even hurt that much.

“Ticket boy, my friend of whom I definitely remember the name of. I think Beez would be real pissed if they found out you ruined our change to win this contest thingy. So…”

Crowley trailed off. The boy had quickly paled at the mention of Beez and nodded furiously. Threatening with Beez was always successful. Crowley knew that from experience.

“Okay thanks.” Crowley said and they entered the building without further problems.

At least that was the plan. Instead the Bentley behind them made a last aching sound and then exploded.

Crowley didn’t even know what to think. He stood there in awe, as the flames climbed higher into the sky and the smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils once again. The explosion looked just like he had seen it in several movies. But the difference was that this wasn’t just some random car on a film set. This was his car. He couldn’t move. It couldn’t just be gone. He didn’t even have money for a new one. He had put it back together over weeks and weeks. He had put every bit of love and care in the process. How dare it betray him like that? How was he supposed to break the speed limits now? Or drive Aziraphale anywhere? He fell to his knees. The water on the street soaked through the fabric.

“Five years and not a scratch, now look at you.”

His eyes weren’t watering. It was just a natural reaction to the smoke.

Quick steps came towards him from behind. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Crowley. We need to get inside. The contest is starting any second.”

Crowley knew Aziraphale was right. But fuck it, he was a dramatic bitch and this was his car and he would pay his last tribute thank you very much.

He turned to Aziraphale, flakes of ash raining down around them.

“I am having a moment here.” He cried.

He was the tragic hero of his own action movie. Were action heroes allowed to cry? Fuck it, real men were allowed to cry.

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, I’m sure we’ll be able to…patch it back together when all of this is over, but we really need to hurry now.”

Crowley let out a hallow laugh. “Patch it back together? Angel, there is nothing you could patch back together.”

Why was he suddenly feeling so fucking sober? Was even his best friend the alcohol betraying him now? He would need to get a beer once they got inside.

“I'm going to call the police. Setting a car on fire is a criminal act.” Shadwell shouted, not being very helpful.

Crowley hadn’t even noticed him being here. He didn’t really care. Crowley got back up to his feet and collected a random piece of trash from the ground.

“Rest in peace. You were a good car.” He said and kissed the metal.

In retrospective he probably shouldn’t have done that, because it tasted absolutely disgusting, but it was the climax of his performance. Aziraphale’s sympathetic look was totally worth the taste of burned shoelace in his mouth.

“Okay, let’s go inside.” Crowley said, but took the piece of metal with him. Maybe he would frame it or something. Yes he was being overdramatic again, mind you.

Aziraphale hurried after him. “Well-Oh, I do hope we’re not already too late.”

“It’s not too late. No party starts without me.” Crowley said and put his sunglasses back on. He wondered if that was a line from a movie, because if it wasn’t he should totally sell it.

“But we have to wait for the police!” Shadwell shouted behind them.

“We don’t have time for that, chief editor Shadwell. We are here to lick some serious butt.”

Crowley sighed. Maybe he really shouldn’t sell the movie rights.

“ _Kick_ , Aziraphale. It's _kick butt_. Sancta Maria.” He grimaced. “Oh! I can't believe I just said that.”

**16 minutes till the band contest**

Mr and Mrs Young were currently trapped in a crowd of very noisy teenagers. There was the smell of alcohol all around and more than one person had already deflated their cup over them. Although it might have been no comparison to literal fish rain, the beer rain was quite apocalyptic as well.

Deirdre clung to Arthur’s arm and threw another worrying look to the balcony. Still she couldn’t see Adam yet.

“Arthur?”

Arthur peeled his gaze from the still dark stage. “Yes?”

“Do you think he is alright?”

Arthur sighed. “Deirdre, he is an adult person.”

She let her head flop onto his shoulder, absorbing the warmth of his body. “I know, I know. He just seemed so troubled the last time we saw him. What if he does something stupid?”

“Adam wouldn't…” Arthur stopped mid-sentence. “You know, I believe in him. He will figure this out.”

Deirdre smiled as she looked up to him. “You do like him.”

Arthur said nothing and looked back at the stage. But there was a treacherous smile playing on his lips.

**********

In a handful of moments, the bands would show their talents. The forces of ecstasies would pull the crowd together into one roaring mass. And everything depended on the choices of one man. Silence held the bubble of the world in its grip as the curtain fell and the first tones began to sound.

There was no movement in the crowed as the fabric hit the ground. Everyone was focused on the movements of the guitarist in the spotlight. It was the opening act, the band, which had won last year’s contest. Everyone knew the song by heart, but nobody dared to sing it, dared to break the anticipating silence. They were all waiting for the drums to finally set it, fill the room with the dull sounds of the bass and the melancholy of the singer. But nothing happened.

The guitarist continued playing, but threw some very confused glances over his shoulder. This was the part where they should all play together. He could feel them standing next to them, but nothing happened. The lights didn’t turn on. Slowly the muttering started.

There was nothing worse for a band than muttering. Shouts, angry screams, throwing things at the stage. All these were not really pleasant, but fine. You could ignore them and tell yourself the audience wasn’t yet ready for your genius. But a huge disadvantage stages held, was that you couldn’t actually understand anything said in the audience. That meant that muttering could be everything from happy approval to complete disgust. And the band wouldn’t know.

Upstairs in the lounge four smiles looked down at the confusion and the building frustration.

And then, just as everyone thought they couldn’t wait for it any longer, the microphones finally decided to work and the full impact of the song hit the crowd. And then there was no holding back. Bodys were thrown back and force, invisible forces pulling them around the room as hoarse voices screamed along with the lyrics. The ground was a sea of beer and sweat.

And in all this mess, were Anathema and Newt, firmly holding on to each other’s hand as they looked into each other’s eyes. And then Anathema leaned forward, the air between them becoming incredibly warm and Newton thought she was about to kiss him. He could see the sweat on her upper lips, feel her body heat.

He closed his eyes. Nothing happened. Instead he could feel a brush of air next to his ear.

“I think there is something wrong with the sound.”

Newton tilted his head, trying to understand her over the raging of the audience and the droning of the bass.

“What do you mean?”

He couldn’t hide his embarrassment. Anathema’s face was still so very close. Good thing it was very hot in here, so the natural red of his skin would hide his flushed cheeks.

“I think it’s not working properly. And those people on the balcony. I don’t like them either. I mean, you should have seen their egos.” She shook her head and leaned even closer.

Newton felt even hotter. “Was there a problem with them?” He said, _not_ paying any attention to the way Anathema was gripping at his shirt.

“They are like way too big.” She narrowed her eyes and tried to get another look at them. But the steady nudging around them wasn’t really helping. “I think we should check it out. You’re sound engineer, right? Maybe you could help.” She finally said.

Newton wanted to protest, but she was already purposefully leading him through the masses.

************

Adam never imagined it to be like this. The meeting. They were let into the room and the door closed behind them. And then there they were. Standing directly in front of each other like in some bad western film. Looking each other in the eye.

They were different than he had expected. Not so mysterious for a start. More human. More selfish and greedy.

There was a dark chuckle coming from the corner of the sofa. A man was sitting there. It was too dark to see anything else.

“It has begun.”

Adam nodded, but not taking another step forward. His friends were next to him, fear written all over their faces. It still felt better to have them with him.

“So it seems.”

“It is finally time to knock them down a peg. We will toy with them, make them our puppets.” The man got up, the sofa groaning under his weight.

Weirdly Adam felt no fear. He felt nothing. Maybe he had already used up all his emotions for the day.

“I don’t like puppets.” He said calmly.

The man chuckled dangerously. “You are part of us, not them. Remember that. You hold all the power.”

Adam nodded. “I know. And I will use it.”

*************

“Aziraphale where have you been?”

Maria hurried towards them and embraced Aziraphale in a tight hug. Crowley felt a familiar stinging in his chest. He was not jealous or anything. He just had heartburn. Yeah, that was it. It was probably from the lack of alcohol.

Maria held Aziraphale away an arm’s length and looked him over. “And what happened?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I’ll tell you later. We need to get ready now.” He nodded over to Crowley, who was standing there like a statue, still gripping onto the piece of his car.

He felt lost, with all the people swarming around him and knowing what to do. It was so bright in here. He didn’t want Aziraphale to leave. They still had so much to talk about. He looked for his band and found them in a far corner of the room.

“The first band is already on, but they’re having massive problems with the sound.”

Crowley could hear it. The way the sounds were all choppy, although dull trough the closed door. It wasn’t nice. It would probably be really embarrassing for the band. Should he be glad, that it probably meant less competition? Probably, but he was way beyond that now. Actually he didn’t even really care about the contest anymore. He only wanted to talk to Aziraphale.

“We better prepare ourselves then.” Aziraphale said and smiled. “See you later, Crowley.”

Crowley wistfully stared after him, as he disappeared in the nervous crowd. He wished he had called after him.

*************

“But we have to be able to do something.” Anathema started at the wires and switches before her.

Newton sighed and took another look at the disastrous performance on the stage. “We're not in a movie. There's no handy little red wire to cut to stop the thing from doing whatever the person, who has tempted with it, wanted it to do.” He tried to sound real profession. Actually, the switches and lights made him sweat.

“Hmm. Agnes, do you have better ideas?”

Newton saw the familiar thoughtful expression cross over her face, as she tried to think of a lyric.

“You're not gonna be able to shut down 21st century technology with some random last century prediction.”

But Anathema was already finished and opened her eyes back up. “ _He is not what he says he is_.” She groaned in frustration. “Agnes, you're not even trying. It does not even rhyme. What the fuck is it supposed to mean?”

Newton’s heart sank to his boots. He knew exactly to whom the lyric was referring. He averted his eyes, as dread swept over him. “I don't know.” He whispered.

Anathema looked up and stared at him. Of course she would be able to see through his lie. “Tell me.”

Newton couldn’t look at her. “I think it's about me?”

She kept staring at him, her eyes angrily hammering into his skull. And then it just spilled out all at once. It was like she was pulling it from his mouth.

“I am not technically a sound engineer…I'd like to be. But I'm actually just...” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Just?”

“Just...”

“Just? Just what?”

He sighed. “Just the opposite. I'm rubbish with sound systems. Every time I try to make them work, they break.” He looked away, ashamed. “I'm sorry. I can’t fix this.”

**************

It was time to decide who your friends were. And Adam had. So, the judge, his band and a lot of supressed anger, faced Capitalism and three other monsters, build from the greed of humanity.  
  
“The thing is: I think I just want this to be an amazing concert. Something everyone can look back to.” Adam said thoughtfully. He looked at the four figures. “And you’re not really helping the case.”

Desire laughed, throwing back her head so that her hair flew around in an impressive red flash. “Little boys with your toys. Think they’re oh so clever.” She gave them an amused look.

Pepper frowned, her eyes sparking angrily. “We’re adults and I'm not a boy.”

Desire didn’t listen to her. She started walking up and down in front of them, seemingly enjoying the attention. “I am Desire. You were made to serve me, to fight for me and devote yourself to me.”

Pepper rolled her eyes and made an annoyed huffing sound. “My mum says that desire is just masculine recklessness executed on a hormonal level.”

Desire stopped before her. Because of her high heels she was a few centimetres taller than Pepper. But Pepper didn’t seem less intimidating. Desire bent down, an evil smile on her lips. “A little girl. Run home and go back to the kitchen, little girl.”

“I do not endorse everyday sexism.” Pepper snarled and slapped her.

Desire was too surprised to say anything. Adam understood. Peppers slaps were nothing to joke about.

“We're Adam's real friends. Not you lot. You're a joke.”

While Desire was still stunned, Pepper grabbed for her vest and into her pockets. She quickly found what she was looking for and pulled out the invitation. She held it up for a few seconds, noticing with great satisfaction the horror in Desire’s eyes. Then she ripped it into tiny shreds. “I believe in doing things just for fun, bitch.”

“Noooo!” Desire screamed and fell to her knees, trying to collect the pieces from the ground.

Her actions changed something in the group. It gave all of them new courage. Pepper had always been the bravest of the four, but together they were even stronger.

Brian stepped forward, looking Insecurity dead in the eyes. “And I believe in getting over your fears.” He said and punched them in the gut.

They made a very unhappy sounding gulp and tried to get back to their feet, but Brian had already torn their invitation apart.

“And I believe in rehab.” Wensleydale said and with a spectacular right hook, knocked out Addiction. The last invitation went down in shreds. “Actually, it's a very good thing. And people shouldn’t be ashamed about it.” He dropped the shreds on Addictions fine jacket.

Capitalism was still standing in the background, watching everything with a very upsetting calmness.

***********

Newton and Anathema were still sitting in the sound room helplessly looking down on the shit show that was supposed to be the first performance. Time and time again the microphone of the singer started working again, just to die down only a few seconds later. It was no better with the other instruments.

Newton felt very hopeless and most of all useless. This was supposed to be his thing. Why did he always have to make a fool out of himself? It had been going so well with Anathema. Now surely, she wouldn’t want to be associated with him any longer.

Suddenly Anathema sat bolt upright in her chair. “We're idiots.” She looked at Newton, her eyes big.

Newton raised his eyebrow (he was very proud he was able to do that).

“Look. Repair it.” Anathema said and pointed fanatically on the sound system.

“What?” Newton’s brain didn’t seem to catch up to her idea.

“Get this sound system working better, right now. You said every system you try to fix dies, so... fix it.”

Newton chuckled nervously. “And make the performance even worse?”

“Could you?”

“Make it better…or worse in this case?” Newton gulped and looked at the million switches before him. There was sweat on his brow, but he tried to sound professional. “Yeah. Easy. I mean, if I actually wanted to improve this systems performance, all I'd do is open it up and then reconnect the cables...” His hands started fiddling with the switches.

The power went off. It was suddenly very dark in the room. No music was audible from downstairs. Still Newton could feel Anathema’s proud glare through the darkness.

**********

Beez and Dagon were standing down in the audience, patiently looking up at the stage.

Beez’s hands were tremoring with anticipation. Seeing the other band before fail like this, it surely must have been one of their people to mess with the sound system. It had been an incredible satisfaction. All the terror in their eyes. Just wonderful.

They turned towards Dagon and the small group of Emos that stood behind them.

Dagon was wearing her best leather jacket today. Her hair were freshly dyed in a neon green.

“Any moment now. Encourage the people, Dagon.” They whispered.

Dagon cleared her throat. She seemed a bit nervous. “Right. Listen up.” All eyes were on them. “Any moment now, we'll be watching the performance of our band. Now, all of you hate the Christians as much as we do. And we know we tried to challenge them before…And we lost.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Beez wondered if they should have hired someone different for this job. But then Dagon seemed to catch herself again.

“But that was then. We have had years of training to get tougher.”

“Tougher!” The small crowd answered.

“Smarter.” “Smarter!”

“And more dangerous.” Dagon was now in some kind of flow. The eyes of the Emos gleamed.

“I want you to repeat after me. Tougher.” “Tougher!”

“Smarter.” “Smarter!”

Suddenly all the lights in the room went out. The crowd around them started muttering.

Beez narrowed their eyes. A cold feeling settled into their bones. “Something's happening. Something's wrong.”

All over the hall, people who had been wrestling with each other or drinking their seventh cup of beer, started to feel a bit worried. It was black dark inside the hall and there was no sound except the steady muttering. Some people turned on their flashlights, searching for the source of the sudden darkness. Suddenly there was a face looking over the edge of the balcony.

“I’m sorry, but we need security. There are people here without a ticket or an invitation.”

There was a short uproar, then security hurried upstairs. The crowed watched in shock as the three people, who had been lying on the floor before were wrenched away, cursing in very colourful words. Only four young adults and a man remained on the platform, which had suddenly become a stage to all the people gazing from downstairs.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think this is how a band contest is supposed to work.”

The man tilted his head, his expression a weird play of the light of the several torches and the shadow. “It has stopped. For now. But they will be back. We are never far away. With the right amounts of money, you can get entry everywhere.” He still nodded his head in respect.

The entire hall held its breath.

“Good day, gentlemen.”

If somebody would have looked into Capitalisms eyes in this exact moment, they would have seen eyes of night. Eyes that contained shapes cut through the matter of creation into the darkness of mankind beneath, and in which, distant lights glimmered. Lights that may have been stars, used up by the greed of future generations, or may have been something entirely else. But fortunately it was way too dark for anyone to see anything, because obviously Capitalism was still a human after all and could not be millennia old, like his eyes tried to tell.

Instead everyone just watched as he left the balcony through the door, without anyone trying to stop him or show him the way out. The hall was entirely silent.

**********

Crowley had been watching the situation with great interest. Actually he was supposed to get ready to go on stage, but that wasn’t going to happen now, was it? There was no power. How were they supposed to play?

Suddenly there was a very warm presence next to him. His body responded to this presence immediately. There was a smile in Aziraphale’s voice.

“There. You see, Crowley? It's like I've always said…”

Crowley shook his head violently. “Oh, it isn't over. Nothing's over. Both your people and mine still want their war. The guy. The judge, I mean. Adam Young. So his friends got together and saved the contest. Well done. Have a gold star. Won't make any difference.” He moved his hands over his face in resignation. “Oh god Beez will be fucking furious.”

Aziraphale gave him a worrying smile. He was just about to say something, when a very panicky Harriet Dowling crashed through the doors of the backstage room.

“We’re doomed!” She screamed and started running around in circles. “There is a whole crowd out there waiting for a performance and the power in the whole block is down! We’re doomed!”

Crowley knew he had bigger problems to deal with, especially the part about getting brutally murdered by his people, but maybe it was the perfect distraction. Trying to deal with problems he could actually deal with. He walked over to Harriet.

“So we won’t be able to play?” He asked carefully, looking over at his band, which had their instruments already in hand. They should have been next.

Harriet sniffed and nodded. “God, we won’t be able to pay all the people their ticket money back. We will be ruined!”

Aziraphale had stepped next to them and was now trying to calm Harriet down a bit. He offered her a tissue.

All the while a crazy idea had started to form in Crowley’s head. He was so going to regret this. But then again his people couldn’t murder him twice, could they?

“So you need a performance to keep the people calm, while you’re repairing the power?” He asked slowly.

Harriet nodded, tears streaming down her face.

Aziraphale awkwardly patted her back.

“The old piano is still on stage, right?”

Harriet nodded again and sniffed.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “Angel, how would you feel about doing a performance a bit earlier?”

Aziraphale stopped mid motion and stared at him. “Crowley, you can’t be suggesting that…?”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, yes I can.”

***********

Aziraphale took a deep breath. The darkness was surrounding him comfortably, but the stage was already illuminated by some burning candles. The audience was near to silent, all eyes on the curtain, which they were standing behind. Aziraphale felt like his legs would give in under him.

“This is a terrible idea.” Aziraphale muttered. “Can you even play the piano?”

Crowley grinned. In the dim light his eyes sparkled even more mischievously. “Sure can. Just don’t tell anyone. Can’t ruin my reputation.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley you’re literally just going to show the entire band contest.”

Crowley shrugged and took a step through the soft fabric.

Aziraphale could hear a confused murmur. Then the first tones of the piano filled the hall and everything went silent. Aziraphale of course knew the song, knew the lyrics, but his heart was still beating out of his chest as he heard Crowley singing the first lines of the song.

_Imagine me and you, I do  
I think about you day and night  
It's only right  
To think about the boy you love  
And hold her tight  
So happy together_

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the slight adjustment Crowley had put on the lyrics and a sudden warmth spread through his body. He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling inside and Crowley’s voice surrounding him. It was beautiful, so sincere. There was no mask to hide behind when he was singing. He was pouring out all his emotions.

Aziraphale took another deep breath. Then he stepped outside on the stage.

He could barely see the people. The only thing he could see was Crowley, elegantly sitting at the piano and smiling at him. His face was still covered with smooch, his clothes were still burned and ripped, but he looked beautiful. So beautiful it took Aziraphale’s breath away for a second. He nearly forgot how to sing. His throat was way too tight to actually form the words.

But then he looked into Crowley’s warm eyes and the tension just melted away with everything else. It was just the two of them in candlelight.

_If I should call you up, invest a dime  
And you say you belong to me  
And ease my mind  
Imagine how the world could be  
So very fine  
So happy together_

Aziraphale tried to put all his emotions in his words. Tried to make clear that he meant every word of it. That he finally knew and understood. Music was his tool. Because he knew that if he tried to simply say it, words would fail him. But with the music running through his veins, everything just spilled out of him. He didn’t know what to say, but he finally knew how. He felt lighter.

Crowley hands ran over the keys, producing an opening for the chorus. And then they started singing together and it was like it had always meant to be that way. Their voices fitted together perfectly, dancing around each other in the air with such ease and grace. And Crowley’s eyes were on him the whole time, and they were swimming in silent tears, the light of the candles reflecting thousand fold in them. They were a sea of light and unspoken feelings.

_I can't see me loving nobody but you for all my life  
When you're with me, baby, the skies will be blue for all my life  
  
_

Finally they reached the ending of the song and slowly the notes turned silence. But Aziraphale couldn’t move. He was standing right in front of the piano, eyes locked with Crowley’s. They stared at each other, like they couldn’t actually believe the things that had happened. And there was a great big cocktail of feelings in Aziraphale’s gut. But this time it wasn’t unpleasant. It was warm and fuzzy and maybe a bit magical.

Crowley cleared his throat, obviously too stunned to say anything. “Aziraphale, there is something I always wanted to tell you…It’s…I…”

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes finally watering with tears of joy and regret. “You don’t need to say it.” He took another step towards Crowley. “I know.”

And they stayed like that, not even noticing the audience that had burst into deafening applause.

***********

Crowley was still feeling very lightheaded as they left the stage towards the back stage area. He felt like he was drunk. But not drunk in the literal sense, more like drunk on feelings. Everything was warm and fuzzy and he felt like he was wrapped in the world’s largest blanket. Or maybe a swarm of very soft butterflies.

In the backstage area a big crowd had already formed. Crowley could see Adam Warlock Young, the judge and his band and he also spotted a very familiar looking girl.

The girl seemed to recognise them as well, because her eyes widened. She stormed towards them, pointing an accusing finger at Crowley. “You! You're the idiot in the car. You stole my book.”

Aziraphale let out a nervous chuckle next to him. “Actually it wasn’t him. The book is still in my room, if you want to have it back.”

The girl looked from Aziraphale to Crowley and back to Aziraphale. Then she let her finger sink and started muttering to herself. “Don’t want to have it anyway.” Crowley didn’t exactly know what her problem was, but she should really work on her aggression. (Like he was allowed to talk about that)

“What is going down here? Why were you playing together? And why is everyone so freaked out about it?” Her companion, a short guy with glasses and curly hair asked.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Long story. No time.” He said.

Book girl put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well, try me.”

“Uh...Okay, so, uh...in the beginning, on a band contest…a really long time ago, there was-Well, he was a wily Emo, and I was technically not even supposed to be there.” Aziraphale started. It was pretty adorable how invested Aziraphale seemed in telling his story, but really it was also very embarrassing.

Crowley sighed and shook his head.

Aziraphale’s stream of words quickly died down into a shy smile.

For the first time book girl seemed the notice the presence of the other people. “Hi, Pepper. Hi, you two…Hi, Adam.”

Crowley was no expert, but even he could feel the awkward energy that lingered in between them. Neither of them wanted to look the other in the eye.

“Hello, Anathema. You just stopped embarrassing everyone on stage, didn't you?” The judge asked. He was looking down on his feet sheepishly. Ah, so that’s what was up.

“I guess. My boyfriend here did the tricky bit.” Book girl said and grabbed the hand of the guy, who instantly became very red.

“Boyfriend?” Adam and the guy asked simultaneously.

Book girl nodded.

For a second there was a tension in the air, like everyone was waiting for Adam to snap. He wrenched his fist, staring at the two. Then he let go and smiled. “I’m happy for the two of you.”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief, they didn’t know they were holding.

The only girl in Adam’s troop, with long curly hair rolled her eyes. “Another deluded victim of the patriarchy. Ugh.” She murmured. Crowley liked her instantly.

Then the door burst open and a very angry looking Beez ran in with a very pissed looking Gabriel following closely after. Crowley flinched and he could feel Aziraphale next to him doing the same. Subconsciously he grabbed his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Aziraphale didn’t pull away.

He put on his normal smile, because apparently there was nothing better to hide behind than a smile. “Beelzebub. What an honour.”

Beez let their eyes wander over the whole crowd to finally rest them on Crowley. A murderous fire was burning inside them.

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand even tighter.

“Crowley, the traitor.”

“That's not a nice word.”

Beez scoffed. “All the other words I have for you are worse.”

Crowley needed to remind himself that they wouldn’t be able to hurt him in front of so many people. He was perfectly safe. And more importantly: Aziraphale was perfectly safe.

Beez clenched their teeth. “Where's the boy?”

Crowley didn’t move a finger. He didn’t need to though, because Gabriel pointed at Adam. “That one. Adam Warlock Young.” He said.

They walked up to him, towering over him, like they were some kind of mighty force (although Beez was actually shorter than him).

Adam didn’t move. He didn’t show any sign of fear.

Gabriel put on his fakest fake smile. The skin around his mouth was stretched like he was some kind of horror mask. “Hi. Young man... the contest must... restart. Right now. A temporary inconvenience such as a power failure cannot get in the way of the greater good.” He said in his normal lecturing tone, like Adam was some kind of four year old.

Beez nodded. “As to what it stands in the way of, that has yet to be decided. But the contest must be decided now, boy. That I your fucking job. You have to. Now start the fucking contest.”

They were nearly screaming at the end, still Adam stood completely motionless. He smiled. “You both just want to see whose gang is best?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Crowley could almost sense his impatience, his feeling of superiority. “Obviously. It's how it is supposed to be. Good winning over evil.” He gave Beelzebub a disgusted side look. “That’s how god would want it.”

Crowley wanted to throw up. Gabriel twisted mortality was something he couldn’t get his head around. He always thought he was doing the right thing, was convinced he was doing the right thing, while doing utterly terrible things to the people around him. That was even worse than actually wanting to do bad things. At least those people felt some kind of guilt or responsibility. Crowley really, really wanted to slap him.

Beez pushed Gabriel aside. “I've got this.” They sneered. “Adam...when all this is over, you're going to be real famous. Get a lot of money. You could start your own record label and control a few band yourself. Don’t you want to do that?”

Adam shrugged. “It's hard enough having to think of D and D campaigns for Pepper and Wensley and Brian to do all the time so they don't get bored.” He looked over at his friends. “I've got all I want.”

Crowley felt proud, even though he had never met Adam before. But he knew how difficult it could be to stand up for your believes. He looked over at Aziraphale.

Now Gabriel pushed front again. “Well, you can't just refuse to be who you are. Your contract, your job. It’s lawfully binding. This is how God would have wanted it.”

Crowley knew that Aziraphale would step up, before he actually did it. He could feel the slight tremor in his hand, the fear that was radiating off him.

Then he cleared his throat. “Um, ahem...excuse me, you keep talking about what God wants...”

Gabriel’s head snapped round towards him. His eyes read pure hatred. “Aziraphale, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut.” He snarled.

Crowley could feel Aziraphale flinch. He was just about to take a step forward and punch Gabriel in the gut, when Aziraphale held him back. He took a deep shaky breath, than raised his voice again. “But how do you know this is actually what God wants?” He asked, looking Gabriel directly in the eye.

Gabriel looked shocked. Crowley couldn’t help but feel satisfaction at that sight. Also he felt really proud of Aziraphale, overcoming his fears and undoing years of harmful conditioning like that.

“I am a priest. I was chosen to be the voice of god.” He stuttered.

“Yes, yes, that sounds like the church assigned you to your position. Just wondering, is that the case for god as well?”

Gabriel opened his mouth and closed it again, like a fish, which had been taken out of the water. “Well, they're the same thing.” He finally said.

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh don’t even try. You can’t know. God’s will is ineffable. But ineffable... is-well, it's ineffable, isn't it? By definition, you can't know it.”

Was that some kind of worry he could read in Gabriel’s eyes? Like he had hit some kind of sensitive spot? Gabriel’s voice was much more quite now. “But-But God does not play games with the universe.”

Crowley laughed. It was a good laugh. It was the laugh of someone, who had constantly been kicked in the face by life. “Where have you been?”

Gabriel’s smile was still fake, but fake in a different way. Like he was desperate. “I-Um…I-I'm going to need to talk to...Head Office. How I am supposed to get all my followers from standing down from the celebrations is…”

Beez huffed again, their arms crossed over their small chest. “It doesn't bear thinking about. You should try to get Emos to avoid any kind of celebrations. God, how are we supposed to drink all this beer now?”

“Well, at least we know whose fault it is.” Gabriel glared at Aziraphale and Crowley.

Crowley couldn’t help but give a sarcastic wink.

Gabriel huffed and started glaring at Adam instead. “Young man...you were put in this position for one reason and one reason only. To judge people. You're a disobedient little brat. I don’t know what exactly went wrong in your education, but I hope someone tells your father and he gives you a good smack.”

Adam smiled and leaned towards him. “Oh, I think my biological father wouldn’t care. And…my other father, well, I think he would be proud of my decision.”

His eyes flickered over towards the Crowd were a happy Mr and Mrs Young were standing.

Gabriel gave everyone a last murderous look, then he stormed out of the room, his coat and scarf flying behind him.

Beez followed suit, but not resisting treading on Crowley’s foot in the process. They smiled at him and whispered into his ear. “You better hope we never see you again.”

Crowley gulped as he sucked in their stinking scent. And then they were gone as well.

***********

The room was beginning to empty. Most of the people had gone outside to do a quick smoke or had already gone home. Only a few stood around. A dull chatter hung in the air.

Mr and Mrs Young stood arm and arm and smiled as Adam walked over to them.

Mrs Young seemed absolutely delighted. She ruffled through Adams hair and actually it was quite embarrassing, but just now and then Adam didn’t mind.

Pepper chuckled, a glimmer in her eyes, like she wouldn’t never, ever let him forget about this, but

Adam silenced her with a glare.

Mr Young awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you boy. I don’t exactly know what you have been doing, but it looked like you did the right thing.”

Mrs Young nodded and pressed Adam against her side.

Adam tried to get free, although the sensation wasn’t really that bad, if he was being honest.

“Yeah, did you see him? The whole _we need security_ part and kicking out those guys.” She smiled proudly. “And you seem so much happier.”

Adam’s eyes rested on Anathema. She was currently sucking her new boyfriend’s lips out of his face. It should have hurt him, he should have been angry or jealous and he was. He felt that familiar stinging in his ribcage. But he didn’t give in to it. Instead he smiled and walked over to them.

Anathema looked at him, finally letting go of her very drowsy looking boyfriend.

“I wanted to say sorry. For the way I treated you. And I don’t know. Maybe you would like to play D and D with us some time.” He looked at Newton. “The both of you.”

Anathema looked at him, then she took a step forward and embraced him in a tight hug.

Adam took in her amazing smell and the way her hair tickled the side of his head.

“Apology accepted.”

And maybe that was not so bad after all.

Crowley and Aziraphale stood next to each other a few steps away, watching the whole scene. Their shoulders were slightly brushing against each other.

It felt good, being so close to Crowley. He could feel his warmth seeping through his coat and shirt. There was a tension in the air. Not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind that prickled down your back and made you feel slightly electrified.

They stayed silent, although he could feel Crowley shifting on his feet, like he was about to say something.

Crowley cleared his throat. “I-I think we should talk?”

Aziraphale slowly tilted his head. “Yes. I think…”

He didn’t get any further, because then the doors of the room burst open. Aziraphale’s stomach dropped and instantly his legs began to quiver.

“Aziraphale! Where are you, you disgrace for a son?!” The voice sent shivers down his back.

Aziraphale felt like hiding behind one of the columns or maybe even Crowley, but instead he raised his shaking voice. “I’m here, father.”

His father’s head snapped around, pure rage and ager raging in his eyes. His face was bright red. His fists were clenched at his sides, as he stormed over to them.

Aziraphale felt a bit faint, like he was experiencing everything through a very thick window glass.

“What are you doing here?! Gabriel told me, you didn’t do your performance and instead sang with one of those criminals? Are you insane, ruining our reputation like that?!”

Aziraphale ducked his head. He couldn’t help it. No matter how much he wanted to look his father in the eye, he couldn’t do it.

He felt a slight push to his shoulder as Crowley stepped before him. “How dare you speak to him like that!? He is you son!” Crowley had taken off his sunglasses and was glaring back at his father, his eyes equally full of fury.

“Yes! He is my son, so I can speak to him any way I like!”

Would someone have but a paper between the two, it would have probably caught fire from the intense staring.

Aziraphale wanted to end their fight, step between them, but he couldn’t. He felt weak.

Suddenly a look of recognition crossed over his father’s face. “Wait I know you, you little shit. You were at the bookstore!”

Crowley gave him a false and furious grin. “How’s your gut doing?”

Aziraphale’s heart stopped for a second. “Wait, Crowley, you-you-you punched him?” Fear started settling into his bones.

“He deserved it.” Crowley snarled, still staring at his father.

Oh, nononononono. This couldn’t be. His father would never forgive him. And how would his mother react? She always seemed so disappointed, when his dad had to give him some kind of punishment again. It was all his fault.

“How dare you talk to me like that?!” Aziraphale’s father took a step forward and slapped Crowley across the face. It was so hard, that it send Crowley tumbling down on the floor.

Something in Aziraphale snapped. “Stop! That’s enough! The both of you!”

It was silent. All eyes were on him. Aziraphale would have liked to run away and hide somewhere deep, deep down in the earth, where no one could ever find him. But he fought against the sensation and looked into his father’s eyes.

They were cold and filled with so much anger.

Aziraphale gulped. It was like his tongue was stuck to his palatal, but still he manged to force out the words, fighting against years and years of conditioning.

“Father, Crowley is my friend and I will not and will never apologise for spending time with him and other things I like to do. And I don’t think that this is how it is supposed to be…” His voice broke, but he quickly regained control. He could not show any weakness. He knew how his father worked. He would use any weakness against him. “A father should be supportive of the things his children want. Not go around punishing people. And I shouldn’t have to live in fear. So maybe it should be you, who has to apologise.” He took a deep, stuttering breath.

His father looked at him dumbfounded.

Crowley was still sitting on the ground, one side of his face now a deep red. He too looked stunned.

“That’s quite enough. Stop this now and I promise I’ll be gentle.” His father growled.

Aziraphale shook his head, feeling suddenly a lot lighter. “No you’re right. That’s quite enough. I think, you should leave now.” He sternly pointed towards the door.

His father’s jaw was working little circles and tremoring slightly with rage. Finally he started talking very, very slowly. “I will go. But I warn you. You are no longer welcome in _my_ household.” He turned around and stormed out the door.

Aziraphale sank to his knees. It was like all the colour and the muttering of the people around came crushing down on him. He felt vulnerable and it was all a bit too much for him to take. He started shaking slightly.

Suddenly there was a warm hand on his arm. “Hey, you did great.” Crowley’s voice was so soft and concerned.

Aziraphale’s fragile cage of emotions shattered. Hot tears started running down his face and dropping on the dirty ground.

He could feel Crowley wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close to his chest.

Aziraphale pressed his head against his shoulder, the tears now seeping into Crowley’s shirt. He smelled good, so very Crowley. They stayed like that on the ground, for what felt like hours. And honestly, Aziraphale didn’t care a bit what the other people were thinking. Embraced by Crowley’s warmth, he felt safe for the first time in month.

***********

Aziraphale and Crowley were sitting outside. It was late in the night, no other person was around anymore. They were waiting for a bus to take them back Tadfield. They could have walked, but none of them felt like it.

They shared a bottle of wine, not even taking glasses. And every time Crowley put the beverage to his lips, he could taste the sweetness of Aziraphale on it.

The moon hung in the sky above them and the stars were twinkling. If it had been a movie, Crowley would have probably burned it for being too romantic.

Aziraphale passed to bottle back to him. “It's all worked out for the best, though. Just imagine how awful it might have been if we'd been at all competent.”

Crowley laughed. “Point taken.”

“That Anathema seemed like a very reasonable person.”

Crowley took another gulp. Something very warm was bubbling in his stomach. “Hmm. And Adam... a bit weird, but not as bad as I expected.”

“Far better than you anyway.” Aziraphale grinned fondly.

Crowley slapped him lightly, a smile on his lips as well.

They looked at the empty street for a while.

“Angel...do you think God wanted it to be this way?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Crowley, you asking me religious questions? Are you feeling alright?”

Crowley didn’t laugh. He looked at the way the soft moonlight made Aziraphale’s hair shine like silver. His eyes were dark and beautiful.

Aziraphale’s smile shrunk. “Could have. I wouldn't put it past her.” He finally said.

“Her?”

“Yes, could be. I mean who am I to judge God’s gender?”

“Oi, how did you get from quite church boy to upright blasphemy this fast?”

On any other day, Aziraphale would have probably objected, been afraid of the things other people would say about him. But Aziraphale was different now. Crowley could see it. The way he held his head, the way he looked people in the eyes. And Crowley felt so much warmth inside of him.

Aziraphale’s eyes were locked with his, both bathing in the emotions of the other. Aziraphale’s eyes were still a deep sea. But this time it was less calm, it was not sad. Instead it was a raging storm, waves of new emotions crashing over sharp edges and spray coating the cliffs.

He leaned forward and Aziraphale’s warm breath tickled on his face. It felt like the whole wold was holding its breath for a second. Even the wind was silent. Then he closed the distance and their lips met.

For something that Crowley had wanted to do so long, it felt weirdly unspectacular, weirdly normal. Aziraphale’s lips were soft and sweet and tasted like wine. And Crowley’s head was swimming with happiness. And it was short. They quickly parted, not even needing to catch their breath.

They looked at each other, not saying a word. Words would only ruin the moment.

Then the headlights of a bus cut through the darkness.

“Oh. There it is.” Aziraphale said and jumped to his feet, like nothing at all had happened.

Crowley needed a moment to collect his thoughts. Who was this new Aziraphale? And why was he destroying every coherent thought in his head?

“I suppose I should go sleep at the bookshop tonight. I don’t think it would be wise to get close to my father again. Maybe I could stay at a hotel for a while.”

Crowley’s expression softened. “It burned down, remember?”

Aziraphale’s smile crumbled to pieces. “Oh.” 

And suddenly Crowley’s head was a war zone. So many voices were screaming at him simultaneously, that it was a miracle Aziraphale wasn’t able to hear them.

_Say it. Say it. Say it._

He took a deep breath. “You can stay at my place, if you like.”

Aziraphale looked down on his shoes, sheepishly. “I don't think my side would like that.”

“You’re still defending them, after everything they’ve done?”

Aziraphale said nothing to object.

Crowley sighed. Maybe he had been a bit too premature. It would still take Aziraphale some time to overcome to harm done to him in all those years. But he would be there to help him. He could wait, if he had to. He had already waited all those years.

“You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.” He said softly.

Aziraphale hesitated, then he nodded slowly, as the bus came to halt in front of them.

They got on and on the way Aziraphale’s warm hand slipped into his and maybe Crowley wanted to scream at the poor alcoholic, sharing the ride with them, because fucking Aziraphale was holding his hand. Instead he smiled and rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. And Aziraphale smiled too.

**Sunday, the very first day of the rest of their lives**

It was a completely new day. Everything was changed. So on Sunday, people woke to find, the room upstairs, once occupied by a part of their family, still empty, or to be sharing the bed with someone, they had never thought they would ever be sharing it with. Although things had been broken or lost, it felt all worth it somehow.

“That’s the last box Mrs Young.”

Mrs Young popped her head around the corner to take a look inside Adam’s new room. “Oh! Well, was that so hard? It looks lovely, Adam.” She smiled and ruffled though his hair again.

Adam blushed at the sudden pleasant warmth that settled in his guts.

“Now you just have to keep it clean.” She laughed.

Adam nodded and grabbed his coat. “I’m going to the meeting. We want to set up a demonstration for next weekend.”

Mrs Young chuckled at his eagerness. “You know what Arthur said.”

“He said not to start a revolution before dinner.” Adam repeated with a groan. Mr Young had repeated the joke over and over again. It would have been annoying, but actually Adam felt quite fond about it by now.

“Well, then off you go. Dinner is at seven. Better hurry up.”

Adam nodded and sprang down the stairs. “Thanks, Mrs Young.”

*************

Newton looked down at Anathema, who was still sleeping peacefully next to him. The sun started dripping through the curtains, illuminating her face in little speckles of sunshine. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The way her messy hair laid around her head and her long eyelashes closed over her eyes.

Newton wondered how he could ever be so lucky. He leaned forward and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

Anathema slowly opened her eyes. A smile appeared on her lips. “Good morning.” She said her voice still raspy from sleep.

She looked at him with her chocolate brown eyes and Newton felt like her was drowning in them.

“Oh, I'm gonna regret asking this...but I'm gonna ask. Why is your car called _Dick Turpin_?”

A smile spread on his lips. “Um, well...Dick Turpin's a famous highwayman.”

She shifted, the blankets making soft rushing noises. “Mm-hmm.”

“It's a sort of joke.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it's called Dick Turpin because everywhere it goes, it holds up traffic.”

“Oh, I regret asking.” She said but still chuckled softly.

Newton thought it couldn’t get any better than this. Lying here in the warmth, next to this beautiful girl.

Anathema probed herself up to her elbows. She seemed thoughtful. A strand of hair fell into her eyes and Newton resisted the urge to tuck it back behind her ear. “Hey...local journalist Not-a-Sound-Engineer Pulsifer...do you think this was it? Do you think the world was never about to end? Is this what Agnes wanted?”

Newton hesitated. “I don't know.” He finally said. “I mean the kids do call it Armageddon. We’ll have to see. Sometimes you just have to wait for the world to catch up. Not listen to some prophecy to tell you what to do.”

Anathema nodded slowly. Then the beautiful smile came back on her face. “Hmm. You did a pretty good job at teenage journalism, though. I mean, you found me.”

Newton laughed and gave her another kiss. Then he snuggled back under the covers with her.

************

Crowley could sense how worked up Aziraphale was. The way he wrenched his hands, the way his eyes darted around the room.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Crowley was still sitting on the sofa. He had spent the night on. He had insisted that Aziraphale slept in his bed. It wasn’t like he was falling asleep on the sofa any other night anyway. Also he hadn’t wanted to pressure Aziraphale into sharing a bed with him, even though he would have liked that very much. But he feared he would go too fast for him. Too fast like all these years ago.

Aziraphale stood there and looked down on him and Crowley could see the wheels turning in his head.

“I’m so sorry about your car.”

Crowley would have almost laughed. Of course Aziraphale would avoid the big topic lingering in the air between them.

Instead he shrugged. “Nah, it’s just a car. I can buy a new one.”

There was silence again.

“I’m sorry about the bookshop.” Crowley said carefully.

A short flash of pain rushed over Aziraphale’s face. “I wouldn’t be welcome there anymore anyway.” He mumbled and sat down next to Crowley.

Crowley was painfully aware of how close they were sitting next to each other. If he wanted too, he could have just leaned over and kissed Aziraphale. But he didn’t.

He feared it had only been a dream. Or that it had just been the alcohol. Maybe Aziraphale didn’t actually want to be with him.

“Have you heard from your people yet?”

Crowley wondered how long they could keep this game of petty talk going, until they had to face the truth.

He shook his head. “Yours?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Nothing.”

Crowley could hear his heart beating in his chest, as the familiar silence settled in.

His lips were dry as he tried to speak the dangerous words. “Do you…understand what happened yesterday?”

Aziraphale looked down on his hands. “Well, I understand some of it. But some of it...well, it's just a little bit too…” He trailed off.

Crowley nodded understandingly. He really hoped Aziraphale didn’t have any regrets about the things he said and did. Because this was the best thing that had ever happened to Crowley and he feared that if he had to give this away again, he would simply crumble to pieces.

And somehow he felt, like it was all his fault. That Aziraphale would leave him again, because he couldn’t put up with his shattered self. He felt vulnerable around Aziraphale, because he let his guard down, tried to be himself. All this talk, all this being over the top, he just did this to not show that he still felt like a little kid. And all this shouting at his plants, not allowing them a single misstep or second chance, because actually he believed the same to be true for him.

“So you okay with this…with us?” He asked, his chest tight.

Aziraphale looked up and found Crowley’s eyes. “Crowley, I would never regret the things I said. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be afraid.”

It felt like a heavy stone was lifted from him. Suddenly breathing worked a lot easier than before.

“It’s okay. We’ll work it out.” Crowley said and smiled. He stood up. “I’m gonna get us something to eat.”

And he stormed out of the flat, before Aziraphale could object, butterflies in his stomach.

He would get them the most amazing breakfast they had ever had. And then he could watch Aziraphale’s delight about every little bite he took and there would nothing be wrong with it. And after that they would take a stroll through the park, feed the ducks and maybe Aziraphale would even like to hold hands. And if he didn’t want to that would be okay as well.

Something hard hit him on the head. Crowley fell to his knees, the world suddenly going very dark around the edges.

Someone leaned over him. Crowley would recognise Hastur’s grin everywhere. “What's wrong, love?”

Crowley tried to struggle and get back on his feet.

Hastur slammed something on his head a second time. “Ooh, bad luck, dear.” He mocked.

Crowley knew he should feel fear, but he was already too dizzy. His head slammed into the rough pavement.

“It's not a problem. It's tickety-boo.” He heard himself say as everything went black.

*************

“Ah. Aziraphale. So glad you could join us.” Gabriel’s smile was the same old.

Aziraphale shifted nervously on his feet. He knew, that Crowley wouldn’t be happy about him being here. In fact, Aziraphale felt really guilty.

Crowley had gone out to get them something to eat. By now he would probably be back in his flat, his smile crumbling to pieces as he noticed that Aziraphale was gone. At least he had left him a message on the kitchen counter.

But he couldn’t just ignore Gabriel’s call, could he?

It wasn’t like he actually wanted to be here, to hear the words Gabriel was speaking. He couldn’t care less. But all night he had been tossing and turning in Crowley’s bed, trying to find answers to questions he could not even begin to think about.

No, this wasn’t about second chances. This was about closure.

“Yes, I got your message.” Aziraphale said. He was surprised how firm his voice sounded.

Had he really changed that much? He didn’t feel any different. He was still as anxious around them as before. Maybe it was because he knew that it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be alone. Crowley would be there if he needed him.

Gabriel clapped his hands.

Both Sandalphon and Uriel, who were in the room with them, flinched. For the first time Aziraphale understood, that they also must suffer under Gabriel’s cruelty. Only they found another way and took it out on other people.

In some weird way, he felt sorry for them.

Briefly he wondered where Michael might have gone.

“Enough of the small talk. I think you're going to like this. I really do. And I bet you didn't see this one coming.”

*************

“...and the murderer of a fellow Emo’s grease, a crime I saw with my own eyes.” Hastur sneered, glaring at Crowley with fury in his eyes.

Crowley wondered how anyone could murder grease. Did grease have human rights? And why did his head hurt so much again? Blood ran down the side of his head.

Beez unfolded their legs as they stood up from the sofa. “Fellow Emos, you have heard the evidence against the Emo known as Crowley. What is your verdict?”

Instantly the screaming started. “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

It was like someone had put a jackhammer to his skull and was now working their way directly into his brain.

“Do you have anything to say before we take our vengeance on you?”

Crowley laughed. Somehow the whole situation hadn’t properly catched up with him yet. His head was throbbing and everything felt weirdly distant and dull. Maybe he was going into shock. He was just too tired to care.

“What's it to be? You gonna blow up my car? Sorry to disappoint you, but I already did it myself.”

Hastur stepped closer, every step full with glee and murderous grace. His feet met Crowley’s side and a sharp pain began to spread.

Crowley muffled a groan.

“No, we're going to do something even worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime.”

Suddenly to door opened and a very familiar looking figure stepped inside the dark room. Crowley thought he must be hallucinating. “Is that Michael? That's unlikely.”

Beez took a step towards her. “Cooperation with our old enemies.” They patted Michaels shoulder.

Michael didn’t seem very happy about that, but didn’t pull away either.

“Well, rich-bitch, you brought the stuff?”

Michael was probably too good to comment on the rich-bitch part. “I did. I'll be back to collect it.”

“No, I think perhaps you should do us the honours of staying. You can watch the punishment.” Beez said and did another pet on her shoulder.

This time Michael looked actually distressed. She pulled out a bottle.

Although his head was swimming with too many sensations already, Crowley could immediately place the reek coming from it.

“That's Gabriel’s shampoo.” He said.

Michael said nothing, her hand shaking slightly as she handed the bottle over. “I’d like to go now, please.” She said quietly, glancing around at all the other Emos.

Beez laughed. “Uh, it's not that we don't trust you, Michael, but obviously we don't trust you. Hastur, test it.”

Hastur took the bottle and smelled. His features hardened. “Yeah that’s it.”

Michael was guided back outside and Crowley was sure to hear a sigh of relief.

Beez attention was back on him. At least he thought it was, it was hard to tell with his blurry vision. “Crowley, I sentence you to extinction of grease by shampoo water. Have you anything to say?”

It was nearly laughable. After this entire act they had put up, the punishment would simply be washing his hair? He felt like he was in some kind of comedy show. Well, maybe he was and in a few seconds a camera team would jump from their hide out.

Or maybe, it was just him. Maybe he wasn’t as Emo as he always thought he was. Well, actually he had already known that for a long time. He wasn’t entirely Emo, but he wasn’t Christian either. Why did you have to fit some kind of box anyway? He was just something in between. He was Crowley, nothing else.

He looked at Beez and grinned. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, because his head hurt a lot more afterwards.

“Well, yes. Um... this is a new jacket, and I'd hate to ruin it. Do you mind if I take it off?”

***********

There was a knocking on the door.

“Just leave the plate outside.” Shadwell screamed, barely looking up from his book.

Normally the steps would soon leave again. But instead he heard the door opening.

Madam Tracy stood in hall, looking over at him, seemingly embarrassed. “Hello, Mr S.”

“Yes, snake?”

She had her hand still on the door, not sure whether to come in or stay outside. “I was just thinking...after all we've been through the past couple of days, it seems a bit silly for me to leave the plate outside the door, so I've laid a place for you at the table.” She motioned for her flat on the other side.

He hesitated. Some weird feeling started taking a hold of his heart. Something really light and warm.

“In your den of iniquity?” He asked carefully.

She nodded.

The armchair under him, suddenly felt like it wanted to swallow him whole. His legs were working for him, as he got back up to his feet, walking over to the door. He wiped his suddenly very sweaty hands on his shirt.

Madam Tracy led him inside and showed him to a chair on the table. There were candles and it smelt very nice indeed. She put something for the both of them on the plates, him eying everything very suspiciously.

Finally she sat down and gave him a small smile. “You know, I've got a tidy amount put away. Sometimes I think it would be nice to move out of London.” She didn’t take her eyes off him.

He felt like he was being pinned against the wall behind him.

“Get a little bungalow. Maybe open an office there. And they say two can live as cheaply as one. And it would be nice to have a man around.”

As you all know by now, Shadwell wasn’t the fastest man, at least thinking wise, so it took a moment for the suggestion to sink in. If it was even possible for a specimen like him, he blushed.

“Uh, well, I don't think local journalist Pulsifer is ever coming back. I'm the only journalist with focus on teen crimes left.” He said defensively.

Somehow he was very aware of all sounds and smells around him. The steaming food, the jangle of the necklaces around Madam Tracy’s neck, how close she was suddenly sitting to him. Their hands on the table were nearly touching.

“And you found me. I'm not a teenager myself, not anymore, but I’m associated with them... I'll have to do.”

They stared at each other for a while. Nobody dared to say a word, to break the silent arrangement between them.

“Now what?” Madam Tracy finally asked and raised a perfectly plugged eyebrow.

Shadwell gulped and tried to look everywhere but her. “I...I suppose now, I, uh...I pop the question?” He said uncertainly.

Her smile was bright and friendly, like she already knew what he was about to say. Like she could see right into his head. “Yeah. Go on, then.”

“Aye.” He fumbled with the cutlery on the table. “How many piercings have you got, traitor?”

There was no indication she felt in the slightest offended by his words. Instead she took his hand and squeezed it. “Just the two.”

Shadwell took a careful bite from his food, while she kept staring at him. He set down his fork. “Well...that's alright then.”

***********

Apparently this new day was a day, which would contain a lot of knocking, because at the exact same time there was a knock on the door of Jasmine Cottage. Newt, who had left the bed before Anathema to cook them both a very lovely breakfast, looked at it in confusion.

He opened it to find himself face to face with a small, odd looking man.

He had neck long, black hair, intertwined with leafs and flowers. He wore some weird sort of sheets.

“Mr Pull-zifer?” He asked, smiling brightly.

“Pulsifer.” Newton corrected automatically, but still frowning.

“Pulsifer?” The man tried again.

Newton noticed he was barefoot.

“Well, I-I have the peculiar honour of bringing you and Mrs Pulsifer a small bequest.”

There was a lot of dirt on his feet and at the end of the sheets, or whatever it was. It looked like he had been walking for days. Maybe he had, since Newton could not see a car outside.

“There isn't a Mrs Pulsifer. Well, other than my mum, but she's in Dorking.” He said.

“How odd. The letter is quite specific. Can I come in?” The guy asked, already pushing past him towards the kitchen.

Newton was a bit taken by surprise, so he did the only reasonable thing as a British person. “Uh...Tea?”

The guy laughed and sat the package he had been carrying down on the kitchen table. “Oh, I mustn't. To be honest, we're all very interested in this. Chieftain Bychance nearly came down himself, but he doesn't travel well these days.” He babbled, while running around the kitchen.

Newton wondered if maybe all of this was a dream and he was still lying in bed. But he could feel the cold of the kitchen tiles under his feet.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“The bequest. It's what's in the box with the letter. My tribe has had it since the eighties. Someday some weird woman showed up and handed us this and a letter. The letter contained instructions, some seeds, and five interesting facts about the next 10 years, which would ensure that we were able to pursue our weed farming without intervention from any legal forces. All we had to do in return was see that the box was carefully looked after for some years, and then be delivered on this particular Sunday morning. And well... here it is.” He said, smiling brightly with some kind of tada-motion.

Newton wondered, if he had had a bit too much of said weed in the last couple of years. No one could possibly be that happy. Especially not this early on a Sunday morning.

“It's from Agnes.”

Newton hadn’t noticed Anathema entering the kitchen. She walked over to them, eying the package. She too was barefoot.

“Are you sure?”

“I recognise the style.” She looked at the guy and offered her hand. “I'm Anathema.”

“Baddicombe.” His name even sounded like he had a bit too much of it. “Well, should we see what's inside? We've been having bets.”

Anathema nodded slowly. “Would you like to open it?”

His eyes sparkled with delight. “Oh, I say, that would be something to tell the grandchildren.” He carefully took the lid of the box and pushed it open.

There were a few papers inside. He took the first one out.

Newton could feel that something had changed.

“That's odd. That's my name, I...” His eyes began to read, fly over the paper.” Excuse me, I...” He stormed out of the door.

Newton took the paper, which had dropped from his hands. “ _Let me thank you for your service. Did you notice ye wife is nervous? May it very well be, she is as busy as a bee?_ ” Newton chuckled.

He expected Anathema to do the same, but she was concentrated on the other papers now in her hand. “Further Nice and Accurate lyrics of Agnes Nutter, Concerning the World That Is to Come. Now with PDF download.”

**********

“So, with one act of treason, you averted the contest.” Gabriel was walking up and down in front of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had begun to feel nervous. He couldn’t help for his eyes to dart to the empty spot next to Gabriel again and again. Something was really upsetting about it, he just couldn’t place his finger on it.

“Well, I think for our community…”

Gabriel’s head snapped around, flames of anger licking inside his purple blue eyes. “Don't talk to me about our community, sunshine. I'm the priest fucking Gabriel. Our community wanted to finally settle things with the opposition once and for all.” His voices boomed through the empty church.

It was frightening, although Aziraphale had always known this anger lay dormant just beneath the surface. But there was nothing more important for Gabriel than his reputation. And to lose his temper like that…well you really had to get on his bad side.

Aziraphale should have been terrified. But he wasn’t. He was worried. And angry.

“I’d like to remind you, that we’re meant to be the good guys, for Heaven's sake.” He glared at Gabriel, then at Sandalphon, whose grin spread wider than Aziraphale ever thought possible.

“Well, for Heaven's sake,” Gabriel mocked his tone, “we are meant to make examples out of sinners. So…with this I ban you from our community.”

Just a few days ago, this would have been Aziraphale’s worst nightmare. No one to give him any kind of direction or purpose. No support, no friends, no belonging. But after all of this he understood that it wasn’t the church to give him these feelings in the first place. He had never belonged. They had never supported him.

He gave them a weak smile. “Right. Well... lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion. I just have one question…where is Michael?”

Gabriel gave him that famous annoyed sigh. “Would you shut your stupid mouth and leave already?”

Although Crowley didn’t really have a problem with bathing and water in general, he had a lot of problems with the ceremony the Emos apparently called bathing. It probably came closer to water boarding.

Hastur pressed his face under water again and someone was scratching over the sensible skin on his head. He fought against the hand on his neck, his breath getting shorter with every second.

Finally someone pulled him to the surface again. Crowley gasped for air, his lungs hurtfully giving in under the pressure. It still felt like he was drowning. His hair was dripping cold water everywhere.

“I don't suppose that anywhere in this shithole there's such a thing as a rubber duck?” He joked, before Hastur wrenched his head under the surface again.

His fingernails dug into the skin on his neck. Crowley thought that drowning by getting his hair washed was a really stupid way to die.

“Michael is always here. There is no way she would be missing out on this. So if she is not here, that must mean she is on a really important mission.” The wheels in Aziraphale’s head were turning, while he blankly looked at the people in front of him.

Gabriel leaned over to Sandalphon. “It may be worse than we thought.” He whispered, as he realised Aziraphale stayed completely unaffected from his words earlier.

Contrary to Gabriel’s statement, it was not in the interests of the church to make examples of people. Their main goal was to maintain their façade of a perfect, happy community. They were the good guys. So no matter how much Gabriel wanted to crucify Aziraphale, in reality, all he could hope for was to hush it up, ban him from the community with only a few people noticing. They couldn’t have a black sheep ruin their reputation.

Aziraphale was still caught up in his thinking progress.

“And you wouldn’t send someone on an important mission, while you are having your big moment here…unless.” He went very, very pale. “Unless it is a vital part of the mission, that it’s taking place at the exact same time…” He finished, much quieter now. “Crowley.”

Crowley’s breath was getting short. All this change between not being able to breathe at all and sucking the entire oxygen in the room into his way too small chest, was doing its toll on his body.

Black dots had started forming in his vision and his head was spinning even more. He knew he wouldn’t make it much longer.

Crowley was never really good at the fighting part. He tended to run away screaming, if possible. But if there was one thing he was, it was crafty. The cold water embraced him again with its heavy arms. And as he stared at the dirty ground of the water bucket, an idea began to form in my head.

“You tell me, where Michael has gone.” Aziraphale’s voice was stern and had a low, dangerous tone to it.

Aziraphale wouldn’t strike anyone as the violent or threatening type. Quite the contrary actually. But if his time with Crowley had taught him one thing, then it was that even though everyone tried to tell them they were complete opposites, they were actually quite similar. And if he wasn’t furious or intimidating, well neither was Crowley normally. But he could pull it off. So Aziraphale could pull it off as well. And that he did.

Gabriel subconsciously took a step back. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

Aziraphale took another step towards him. A hot mix of worry and rage sloshed in his belly. “I don’t care about your punishment. Tell me, what did you do with Crowley?”

Maybe on different occasions the slight fear in Gabriel’s eyes would have given him a feeling of satisfaction. Not this time, when he was blinded by all the ideas of what could have happened to his friend.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gabriel squeaked.

“You better be right about that.” Aziraphale stormed out of the building without giving him another glance. 

This time Crowley was prepared. Before Hastur could pull him back outside, he took a deep gulp of the disgustingly foul tasting water. Everything in him screamed to let the water go, to finally suck in some more air, but he let his mouth stay closed.

And as finally the cold of the air brushed over his skin, he turned around with a sudden jerk and spilled all of the water directly in Hastur’s face.

Hastur started screaming. Then some more people started screaming.

Crowley took the moment of confusion to throw his hair back over his head, all the while splashing dirty water everywhere.

The Emos jumped back with high squeaks of panic.

Then he took the bucket and emptied half of it over the still fanatic Hastur.

“Thanks for the bath everyone.” He said in the most casual tone he could manage, while also gasping for air.

He turned around, bucket still in hand, trying to keep back all the people surrounding him. It was time for bluffing part 2.

He grinned. “So, you're probably thinking, _If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?_ And very, very soon, you're all going to get the chance to find out. I could break someone’s record collection.”

He tried to sound threatening. He wasn’t sure, if it was working very well, because his hair was still dripping on his shirt and he couldn’t really stand on his left leg. Only thing probably helping was the now sobbing Hastur on the ground next to him, who had started rubbing his eyes and hair in hopes of getting the water from his skin.

“Anyone want to try?” Crowley said, offering the bucket to a few people in the front row.

They edged as far away from him as possible.

“He doesn’t care about his grease.” He could hear Ligur whisper to Beez. It sounded frightened, maybe also with a hint of recognition.

Beez growled. “Shut it! I can see that.”

The fear in their eyes was something Crowley had never expected to see.

They took a few seconds to think.

On the contrary to the Christian community the Emo community was all about public shaming and torture. They didn’t have an image to maintain and most of the time didn’t have to make use of such subtle things as manipulation and conditioning. They were all about fear. Keeping people down with the idea of punishment. So if someone was to leave one of their punishments unharmed, this was bad news. This meant that their followers could get stupid ideas.

“Get him out of here, this'll cause a riot.” They finally barked. And then to the Emos around him. “What are you all looking at? Nothing to see. Nothing to see here.”

The Emos began to hurry out of the door. Through said door, a very confused looking Michael tried to enter again. She was nearly run over by the crowd. “I came to bring back the…” Her eyes feel on the still grinning Crowley. “Oh, Lord.”

“Michael! Dude. Can I use your scarf? I need a bath towel.”

And in her complete shock and confusion she did actually hand him her scarf.

Crowley wished Aziraphale was here to see it. It was very hilarious. At least in his head. And hadn’t he still been in immediate danger.

Right, that was something he needed to take care of. He nearly forgot it over all the pain in his entire body.

He rubbed the scarf over his head. It smelled absolutely terrible, now a mixture of Gabriel’s shampoo and Michaels deodorant, but he was doing it for the act.

“I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future. Don't you?” He said, with the slickest smile.

Internally he was trying very hard not to break down sobbing. But that was just a normal day for him, right?

To his great surprise Beez nodded carefully. Then Michael nodded too.

Crowley gave them a last grin, then he wobbled out of the room.

**********

“Are you sure?” Newton asked her again.

Anathema looked down at the old pages in her hand. They still smelled a bit like weed. She sighed. “Yes, I'm sure. I know what I'm doing. I just...I just don't like it.” She said.

The flames before her had stated liking at the dry leafs of the sticks. There was a soft crackling noise that fire always made. Normally it should have been soothing. Now it frightened her on levels she couldn’t understand.

“Technological marvels could be revealed.” Newton suggested with a hint of melancholy.

She knew that face. It was exactly the face her mother used to make. The face of someone searching for answers. But over the years she had learnt, that answers were not always the best option. Sometimes it was good to just wait for the things to happen.

She smiled and leaned over to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “And you'd probably just break them.” She teased.

Newton grinned stupidly, like a first year that fell in love for the first time. It was still adorable.

“Think of it this way. Do you want to be a descendant all your life?” He asked, after she had stared in the flames for another few minutes.

_All her life._ All her life Anathema had been running exactly from this. And she had wished she had the exact same choice she now had. The choice to _not_ know. But she felt vulnerable letting go. To be blind to anything about to happen. How could she after all this time?

But then again, what did it matter? If she couldn’t run from her faith anyway, if she couldn’t change anything about it, wasn’t it better to just let go and accept the things about to happen?

She took another deep breath. Then she let go. The flames instantly started licking eagerly on the paper. And the letters of what once could have been Agnes name slowly turned to dust.

Newton took her hand and squeezed it slightly.

***********

“Adam!” The Them called over to him.

Adam grinned as he saw Wensleydale licking on another ice pop.

They ran over the street and towards him.

“Where are you going?” Pepper asked.

“To the meeting.” Adam had his hands stuffed into his pockets and was casually walking next to them.

“Are you still trying to get her attention. Adam I thought…”

Adam cut her off with a motion of his hands. “It’s not like this.” He said. “I just want to do it for myself. You know it’s our planet. We might as well safe it.”

Pepper nodded her head, unnaturally not saying anything.

They walked in silence for a moment, only Wensleydale’s licking on the ice cream audible. It wasn’t unpleasant. They just didn’t know what to say, all hanging after their own thoughts.

“Adam, what happened last night?” Brian finally asked.

Adam shrugged. “Just stuff. It doesn't matter. Nothing will change.”

“But you’re going to this meeting. And you’re living with the Young’s now. I’d say that’s some change.” Pepper argued. 

“It’s a fresh start. You know, the whole judge thing wasn’t really my thing. I’m just gonna take some time off and work out something for myself.”

“What about D and D?” Wensleydale asked.

Adam grinned. “Still on tonight.”

“Are you gonna ask Anathema?”

He hesitated, feeling all the concern coming from his friends.

“Why not.” He pulled out his phone. He sent her a text and soon after the three dots already signalled that she was typing.

_Sorry, but Newt and I are having our romantic cinema evening tonight. You know, grabbing into the popcorn boy at the exact same time and shit. Maybe tomorrow._ :)

Adam felt a slight pang in his chest.

He could feel Peppers worried look on his back. “Adam…”

He forced a grin on his face. “I'll be fine. It’s fine, really. I’ll see you this evening.”

Something told him that something was coming to an end. Not only the band contest, but also a part of his life. There would be other days, other D and D rounds, other adventures to come, but there would never be one like this. Not ever again. He was different. For better or for worse, he couldn’t tell yet.

He looked back down on Anathema’s message.

He had never understood why people made such a fuss about love. Now he understood. Because love was the most beautiful, but also the most hurtful feeling in the world. And maybe now he wished for the burning feeling in his chest to go away, he wished that he didn’t feel any love in the first place. But life would be a lot duller if he didn't. And there never was any kind of love, in Adam's opinion, that wasn't worth the pain you got into for it.

***********

Aziraphale didn’t know where he was going. His feet moved over the pavement so quickly, carrying him in the general direction of a part of the city, he had never actually been to. It felt like it was getting darker around him with ever step. But he didn’t stop. His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of Crowley, his head already imagining the worst possible outcome.

Suddenly he saw a flash of something very red at the end of the street. His heart skipped a beat and he began to run even faster.

“Crowley!” His voice sounded way too high, an unnatural squeak even to his ears.

And as he finally made it over to his friend, panting furiously, the situation got only worse.

“Crowley, oh lord, what happened to you?”

Crowley was dripping wet, his hair merely a bush of filthy strands on his head. His right eye was covered by a nasty bruise and blood was dripping from his nose.

Still he was grinning. “Hey ‘ziraphale.”

Aziraphale found himself at a loss of words. He couldn’t comprehend just how bloody awful Crowley looked. And it hurt his heart to see him like that.

“Crowley. What has happened to your hair?!”

It was a natural defence mechanism. He didn’t know how to cope, so instead of being worried he started being absolutely pissed.

“I tried to wash it. Had a bit of help, actually.”

Maybe it was also to keep Crowley clam. If he pretended that everything was fine, then everything would be fine.

“Oh, but Crowley look at your shirt!”

“Angel, I got water boarded. I couldn’t worry about my shirt.”

Aziraphale huffed, what was supposed to be in an annoyed way. “Right, let’s get you home.” He said and drabbed his coat around Crowley’s shoulders.

Crowley started grinning like a maniac. It was absolutely infuriating.

They made their way back slowly, because Crowley couldn’t actually put any weight on his leg, but stubbornly refused any help from Aziraphale. Aziraphale would have liked to slap him, or maybe carry him all the way back to his flat. He was worried and his hands wanted to betray him and start fiddling with his shirt. He kept himself busy by being annoyed by Crowley’s overdramatic act.

“Do you think they'll leave us alone now?” Crowley asked, as they were only a few streets away from his flat.

Aziraphale sighed. “I think Gabriel wouldn’t want to bring it up again. It would ruin his image. At a guess, he’ll pretend it never happened.”

He still felt an empty sport, where once his devotion had been. What was he supposed to do, now that he didn’t need to keep up with his duties?

Crowley nudged him in the side and gave him a weak smile. “Same for my people I think.” He started grinning again. “I asked them for a rubber duck and used Michael’s scarf as a towel.” He laughed.

Aziraphale soon joined in. He tried to imagine Michael’s face. It made him feel a lot better. And he realised that was probably what Crowley had intended.

Crowley fell silent again. “They'll leave us alone...for a bit. If you ask me, both sides are going to use this as breathing space before the big one.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I thought that was the big one.”

“No. I mean, there are still band contests to come. Other bands, who can take our place.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t know how to feel about it. Maybe he needed a bit more time.

“Right, how about we still do that lunch?” Crowley asked, the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

Aziraphale smiled. “I’d like that. But what do you say about going to a café instead?”

**********

Crowley was sure, he had never been this happy.

Aziraphale was sitting right in front of him, enjoying a piece of a very chocolatey cake. Their hands lay on the table intertwined and Aziraphale made no attempt at changing the situation.

Also it was past noon and Crowley wasn’t drunk. He wouldn’t dare waste this precious moment by only remembering half of it later. No, he wanted to remember every detail of it.

The amazing sun shining through the window, the crumbs of cake on Aziraphale’s coat and the bright smile that appeared on his features, every time he looked at Crowley. The singing birds outside the window, the smell of fresh coffee, the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand pressing in his.

He closed his eyes and tried to put it into another bottle. A new kind of bottle that would go into a completely new kind of shelf, which he would open regularly just to see how amazing his life could be.

_~~The music was pressing into his ears again. The crowd screaming words he couldn’t hear. It smelled awfully like piss and sweat. But next to him there was a head with white curly hair.~~ _

_~~“Well, that went down like a lead balloon”~~ _

_~~A soft heart-warming chuckle. Then silence.~~ _

_~~“Sorry, what was that?”~~ _

_~~“I said ‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon’”~~ _ ~~~~

“Ahh...” Aziraphale sighed and leaned back in his chair. He gave Crowley another one of these amazing smiles, and it felt like Crowley would be melting away in his chair. Aziraphale took his glass to his lips, hesitating before actually taking a sip. A thoughtful expression crossed over his face. “I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren't, at heart, just a little bit a good person.”

On any other day, Crowley would have screamed at him. He was an Emo. There was nothing even slightly good about him. But he wasn’t an Emo anymore. At least, not in the way he used to be.

He smiled and raised his glass as well. “And if you weren't, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.” 

Their eyes locked as the stared at each other.

And it was the most perfect feeling Crowley could have ever imagined. It was like chocolate cake and honey and greasy take away food and old, dusty wine and the most beautiful song he had ever heard.

Crowley smiled, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “Cheers. To the music.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. And he didn’t care about anyone else seeing it.

“To the music.” He agreed.  
  
  


Perhaps the recent exertions had had some fallout in the nature of his life, because while they were eating, for the first time ever, the romance in his life wasn’t just a chemical, but a real one. Nobody heard it or saw it, because that is not, how love is supposed to work. But he knew he wasn’t the only one, who felt it, so it was there right enough.

And maybe he didn’t know what the future would bring, but all that mattered to him was this moment, sitting there with Aziraphale, smiling at each other.

_So happy together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me way longer, than it should have. But that’s just because I suck at actually giving people a happy ending.
> 
> As always I need to thank some people.  
> Thanks to [ Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake/pseuds/Big_ball_of_anxiety_and_cake) their support and amazing ideas.  
> Thanks to my friend Merle for being so enthusiastic about my writing and supporting me all the way.  
> Also thanks to [benjiiskenobi](https://benjiiskenobi.tumblr.com). I don’t think they will ever actually read this story, but they listened to all my bullshit and kept me going with stupid jokes about David’s hair.
> 
> And of course thank you to all of you readers, and all the people who left Kudos and comments. It really means a lot to me.
> 
> If you need someone to talk about Good Omens with, don’t hesitate to say hi to me on my [tumblr](https://walkingcontradiction42.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Okay, that’s it then. It's been a long journey, but I really had a lot of fun writing this story. Maybe we’ll see each other again. :)


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